










Glass. ... 

Book __ 

Copyright N° 


COPYRfGHT DEPOSITS 
























THE TRAIL OF THE 
WHITE INDIANS 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


THE TRAIL OF THE 
CLOVEN FOOT 

ILLUSTRATED BY 

HUGH SPENCER 

G, 

To which the present volume is 
the sequel 


E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 




ONE RAISED HIS JAVELIN, AS IF ABOUT TO HURL 
IT AT THE COWERING LADS 


l Page 160) 


THE TRAIL 

of the 

WHITE INDIANS 

Sequel to 

r lrizTra.il of the C/oven Foot 

By A' Hya.ll Verrill 



Illustrated by 

Hugh. Spencer 

E-p. DUTTON & COMPANY 
NEW YORK. 



Copyright, 1920 , 


BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 


All Rights Reserved 



/ 


Printed in the United States of America 



') ■ . 


©Cl, 6597064 

AUG 17 1920 s 



vW \/ 



CHAPTER p AG B 


I. 

An Unexpected Visit . 





i 

II. 

The Alcalde . . . 





20 

III. 

Shipwrecked .... 




• 

37 

IV. 

Mysterious Discoveries 

• 

• 

• 

• 

54 

V. 

Prisoners .... 





So 

VI. 

A Narrow Escape . . 




• 

99 

VII. 

The Mogollones . . 





123 

VIII. 

Benson Takes a Hand 

• 

• 

• 

• 

146 

IX. 

Frightful Experiences 

• 

• 

• 

• 

160 

X. 

A Strange Meeting . 

♦ 

• 

• 

• 

172 


vii 







\ 


✓ U 

























■» ' 

\ 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

One Raised His Javelin, as if About to 
Hurl It at the Cowering Lads . Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Flocks of Herons Rose from the Trees and 
Flapped Away 47 

The Air was Filled with Bats, Startled 
from Their Roosting Places .... 65 

Almost Within Arm’s Length Squatted Two 
Gigantic Indians 121 

With a Gurgling Cry Some Huge Body 
Splashed into the River 133 

With One Wild, Terrified Yell the Mogol- 
lones Fled, Panic-Stricken . . . . 177 



ix 







# 

























THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE 
INDIANS 




An Unexpected Visit 


W ITH the farewell roar of her whistle 
drowning the lusty shouts of a troop 
of Boy Scouts upon the pier, the steam- 
ship backed slowly from the big iron dock at 
Cristobal and into the smooth waters of the 
harbor. Then, swinging majestically, she headed 
for the narrow opening between the huge break- 
waters and the Caribbean Sea beyond. 

Leaning upon the rail of the awning-shaded 
deck, two boys gazed steadfastly shoreward as 
the docks and shipping blended in a confused mass 
astern and the big Hotel Washington merged with 
the background of the palms and buildings of 
Colon, while, beyond all, loomed the hazy, green 


2 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


mountains with the interminable jungle sweeping 
inland from the palm-fringed shores for countless 
miles ahead. 

‘Til bet the rest of the Troop would like to be 
along!” exclaimed one of the boys as the ship 
swung eastward and the town dropped from sight 
beyond a jutting point. 

“I wish they were,” replied the other. “Didn’t 
we have a fine time together on the Gold Road?” 

“Yes, and there’s old Porto Bello now!” ex- 
claimed the first speaker, pointing to a wooded 
bluff rising boldly from the sea a few miles dis- 
tant. “Do you recognize it, Rob?” 

“Aye, Fred,” replied his friend, “I can see yon 
fort where all our adventures began.” 

“And haven’t we had a lot since we first landed 
over there ?” cried the other. 

“And I’m thinking we’ll have a lot more,” de- 
clared Rob. 

“Well, we won’t find another lost mine, that’s 
certain,” laughed Fred. 

“Dinna ye be too sure,” remarked Rob, with 
true Scotch caution. “Had a body told us we’d 
find Tisingal when we first stepped ashore at Porto 
Bello yonder we’d have laughed at the idea, man. 
Hoot, laddie! but ’tis all so like a story I canna 
believe ’tis true.” 

“You’re right,” admitted Fred. “I haven’t even 
begun to realize it’s really happened myself.” 


AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 


3 


It was really little wonder that the two boys 
felt thus, for seldom have boys met with more 
exciting and remarkable adventures than had fallen 
to the lot of Fred Wilson and Rob MacGregor 
since their arrival on the Isthmus of Panama a 
few months previously. 

Organizing a Boy Scout troop, they had gone 
on a camping trip up the ancient, paved, Spanish 
trail known as the “Gold Road’' and here had met 
with mysterious adventures which resulted in their 
obtaining a fragment of an ancient map showing 
the way to the long lost and fabulously rich Tis- 
ingal mine. This, in itself, was enough to satisfy 
most boys, but Fate had decreed that Fred and 
Rob should meet with still more astounding ex- 
periences and, on a trip through Costa Rica in 
company with a scientist, Mr. Grayson, the party 
had been captured by savage Indians, had escaped 
and, by sheer luck, had stumbled upon the long^ 
lost mines. Finding their way back to civiliza- 
tion, they learned that, in order to take over the 
mine, they must obtain certain papers from a man 
named Cabral and who, Mr. Grayson believed, was 
somewhere near Goajira in Colombia. It was to 
find this important personage that Mr. Wilson and 
Mr. Grayson had sailed from Colon with the two 
boys who were the owners of what was reputed 
to be the richest of all the old Spanish mines in 
the New World. 


4 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

But if the boys could not yet grasp the fact of 
their wonderful discovery, they could realize that 
they were bound for new lands full of interest, 
strange sights and possible adventures, and as the 
mountains of Panama sank from sight below the 
horizon they talked of nothing but the future. 
Throughout the night the ship plowed smoothly 
across the Caribbean and when the boys came 
on deck next morning land was close ahead 
and the ship was steaming slowly towards an im- 
mensely long iron pier. Strings of freight cars 
stood upon the dock, several sailing ships and a 
rusty tramp lay alongside, and beyond stretched a 
rolling plain dotted with houses and a cluster of 
buildings, while towering to the clouds in the 
background rose vast, dull, parched-green moun- 
tains. 

‘‘Hello, boys! What do you think of Puerto 
Colombia?” inquired a cheery voice as Mr. Gray- 
son approached. 

“I don't think much of it,” declared Fred. “It 
seems to be all pier and railway cars.” 

“Anyone would think there must be a city to 
see the dock,” added Rob. “Why do they need 
such a huge pier for that little village yonder?” 

“Bananas mostly,” replied the scientist. “Puerto 
Colombia is a United Fruit Company port and 
there are enormous banana plantations back from 
the shore. The dock is said to be the longest iron 


AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 


5 

pier in the world but there really is quite a lot of 
other traffic here. The Magdalena River is just 
beyond and as all passengers and freight fdi* 
Bogota and the interior must go up this stream 
the port is quite important.” 

“Does the Fruit Company own everything 
here?” asked Fred. 

“Almost,” replied Mr. Grayson. “It controls 
all the banana business in this part of the world 
as well as a large part of all other industries and 
the transportation systems. No doubt it’s done 
a great deal to benefit these countries, but it also 
has throttled all competition and has prevented 
progress, save for its own benefit.” 

“Well, it can have this place and welcome as 
far as I’m concerned,” laughed Fred. “It doesn’t 
even look interesting enough to make me wish to 
go ashore.” 

“It would scarcely be worth while,” admitted 
Mr. Grayson. “It’s a hot, uninteresting spot and 
we only remain here an hour or two.” 

The ship was now alongside the pier, and crowds 
of negroes, mestizos, Indians and colored folk ap- 
peared as if by magic. Several of the men carried 
burlap bags upon their shoulders and setting these 
down they proceeded to draw forth parrots, mon- 
keys, fruit and Panama hats. The monkeys chat- 
tered and scrambled about, seeking shelter from 
the sun under cars, trucks and timbers ; the 


6 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

parrots screamed and squawked and the people 
yelled, gabbled and shouted until everywhere was 
confusion, noise and clamor. The boys watched 
the strange scene with interest, amused at the 
antics of the monkeys and laughing at the appar- 
ent excitement of the people over nothing and 
wondering how the pedlers of hats and pets dis- 
tinguished their own property from that of their 
fellows, as parrots, hats and monkeys seemed hope- 
lessly confused and mixed, for everyone was so 
intent upon the arrival of the steamer that they 
left their charges to look out for themselves. 
When a big green parrot proceeded to tear to bits 
a heap of Panama hats and a mischievous white- 
faced monkey made a raid on a tray of fruit be- 
longing to a fat negress the boys roared with 
laughter. A shrill shriek from the negress drew 
the attention of the hat seller and as he leaped 
towards the parrot the black woman lurched pon- 
derously after the monkey, with the result, that 
man and woman collided and rolled yelling, curs- 
ing and screaming over hats, fruit and parrots. 
Instantly everything was confusion ; people rushed 
forward from every side, the frightened parrots 
fluttered and filled the air with their harsh cries, 
a monkey, breaking loose from its cord, scrambled 
across the negress’ s face causing her to emit heart- 
rending shrieks and at this instant a small black 
pig escaped from its owner and, squealing, dashed 


AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 7 

through the crowd upsetting men, women and 
children until the spot was a mass of squirming, 
writhing black, brown and yellow legs, ragged 
garments and squawking parrots. 

“Oh, wasn't that rich !” cried Fred, his face red 
with laughter. “To see that old mammy rolling 
among the hats and the way she yelled when the 
monkey ran across her face !” 

“Aye, and the way they all went down like nine- 
pins when yon pig ran among them!” exclaimed 
Rob. “Wouldn’t it have made a dandy motion 
picture, though?” 

The breakfast gong interrupted the comedy and 
before the meal was over the ship had slipped 
from the pier and was again headed for the open 
sea and Cartagena. 

The boys had read a great deal regarding this 
historical old town and looked forward with in- 
tense interest to a stay there, and from the moment 
the ship turned shoreward and as the hills and 
mountains grew steadily more distinct, they 
watched with eager eyes for the first sight of the 
famous city. 

But when at last it did loom above the trees 
they were puzzled, for there appeared to be no 
harbor, the roofs and towers with their bright 
hues and red tiles seemingly far back among the 
greenery. 

Mr. Wilson explained that the city was built on 


8 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


the shores of an almost landlocked harbor, or 
lagoon, some distance from the sea and that the 
narrow, crooked entrance was concealed by brush 
and trees on the sand-pits which projected on 
either hand. 

While he was speaking, the entrance came into 
view, a little pilot-boat came dancing across the 
waves and a few moments later the big ship 
steamed slowly along the tortuous channel. On 
one hand the boys caught sight of a half-ruined 
old fort commanding the harbor mouth. 

‘Til bet that’s the same fort that gave Morgan 
and Drake such a lot of trouble!” exclaimed Fred. 

“Right you are,” declared Mr. Wilson. “But 
there are other and far larger forts beyond. In 
the old Spanish days Cartagena was one of the 
best fortified towns in the world. Even the Brit- 
ish under Vernon had a long hard fight to take it. 
By the way, did you know that George Washing- 
ton’s brother took part in that battle ?” 

“Then I suppose Mt. Vernon must have been 
named after the commander,” said Rob. 

“Exactly,” agreed Mr. Wilson. “George Wash- 
ington himself fought under Vernon. Ah; here’s 
the town, boys. It’s far prettier from here than 
after one steps ashore ; but you’ll find it very inter- 
esting, nevertheless.” 

For the three days they were in this ancient 
stronghold of Spain’s former greatness the boys 


AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 


9 


found plenty to occupy their time. They visited 
the old forts, explored the catacombs under the 
city, took trips to the surrounding villages and 
were immensely interested with the implements of 
torture once used by the inquisition and although 
the rack was serving the more useful purpose of 
a window-grating, it lost none of its interest there- 
by. 

Meanwhile Mr. Wilson and Mr. Grayson were 
busily engaged with chartering a schooner to take 
them to Rio Hacha and in purchasing supplies 
and provisions for the trip to the little-known dis- 
tricts about Goajira. 

Numerous inquiries had been made as to Cab- 
ral’s whereabouts, but with little success. Several 
people knew of him and one or two declared that 
he had gone to Venezuela, but by sheer good luck 
the captain of the little schooner which they en- 
gaged had met Cabral at Rio Hacha on his last 
trip. 

The boys were elated at this news, for it now 
seemed certain that they could find Cabral, and 
they were in high spirits when at last all was 
ready and they boarded the schooner and sailed 
forth from Cartagena. The little vessel left the 
harbor by a different entrance from that through 
which the steamer had come and Mr. Wilson told 
the boys that this was the channel which the Span- 
iards closed by chains at the time of the bucca- 


10 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


neers’ attack on the city. “It proved a sort of 
boomerang, however,” he said, “for the Span- 
iards’ ships were thus bottled up in the harbor 
and became an easy prey for the invaders. The 
chains were never removed and the entrance has 
become impassable for large vessels.” 

There was a fresh trade wind blowing outside 
the harbor and, heading eastward, the schooner 
heeled to the breeze and with all sail set tore 
through the blue sea like a racing yacht. The 
boys hunted up some fishing lines and amused 
themselves by trolling and were rewarded by se- 
curing two fine bonitos and several Spanish mack- 
erel. 

As they were intent on their fishing, they were 
startled by a terror-stricken yell from the captain 
and turned in time to see him drop the tiller and 
leap down the companion-way, while those of the 
crew in sight disappeared as if by magic. In- 
stantly, the schooner yawed and swung up into 
the wind with a tremendous flapping of canvas and 
rattling of blocks and ropes. 

“What in the commenced Fred and then 

stopped with gaping mouth and unbelieving eyes 
staring at a large, dull-gray object slowly rising 
from the sea not two hundred yards from the 
schooner. 

“Hoot, mon, ’tis a submarine !” cried Rob. 

“By Jove, it is!” exclaimed Mr. Wilson. 


AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 


IT 


“And a whopping big one !” added the scientist. 

“Is she a German ?” asked Fred, finding his 
voice at last. 

“I can’t make out her colors/’ replied his father. 
“The flag is so stained and wet; but I don’t think 
she’s a Hun boat.” 

By now the submarine was in plain view, and, 
as Mr. Wilson spoke, a man emerged from a 
hatch ; an ugly-looking gun reared itself above the 
deck and the sailor swung the muzzle of the 
weapon towards the schooner. 

“Look out, he’s going to fire on us !” cried Fred 
in frightened tones. 

But at that moment an officer appeared and 
holding a megaphone to his lips hailed those on 
the schooner. 

“Ahoy, aboard the schooner !” he cried and the 
boys breathed more freely at the sound of the 
English words. “What ship is that, where are 
you from and where bound?” demanded the 
officer. 

“I guess it’s up to us to reply,” remarked Mr. 
Wilson. “The crew and skipper seem to have 
made themselves scarce.” 

Cupping his palms and standing by the rail he 
shouted back, “Schooner Maria Teresa, from Car- 
tagena for Rio Hacha.” But evidently his words 
were indistinguishable, for the officer shook his 
head and, turning to the conning-tower, gave an 


12 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


order and the next instant the submarine swung 
as on a pivot and slipped forwards toward the 
schooner, and as she did so, the bedraggled ensign 
blew out and displayed the Stars and Stripes. 

“Hurrah, she’s American!” cried Fred in re- 
lieved tones. 

“Hoot, mon! didna ye ken it lang ago when 
yon leftenant spoke?” said Rob. 

The submarine was now within easy speaking 
distance and Mr. Wilson again replied to the of- 
ficer’s hail. 

“You’re Americans, aren’t you?” queried the 
lieutenant as Mr. Wilson finished speaking. 

“Three of us,” answered Mr. Grayson. “What 
are you chaps doing over here?” Then, with a 
laugh, he added, “You boys should get a new flag. 
We thought you were Huns and came pretty near 
blowing you out of water.” 

“What with?” laughingly inquired the officer. 

The scientist ducked down the companion-way 
and returned with a .22-caliber rifle. “With that,” 
he replied, and all joined in the hearty laugh which 
followed. 

“I’d like to have a chat with you fellows,” cried 
the lieutenant. “Can’t you come alongside in your 
small boat?” 

By this time the captain and crew, finding they 
were not to be sunk, had recovered from their 
terror and had reappeared on deck and Mr. Wilson 


AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 


*3 

ordered the small boat lowered and manned and, 
accompanied by Mr. Grayson and the boys rowed 
to the submarine. 

The boys were filled with interest and excite- 
ment at thus boarding an underseas boat and were 
in hopes of being invited below; but in this they 
were disappointed, for the commander of the sub- 
marine kept them standing on deck during the 
conference. 

“We're down here looking for a Hun base," he 
explained after the first greetings and introduc- 
tions were over. “There are U-boats off the At- 
lantic coast," he continued, “and we've reason to 
think they have a base on some unfrequented bit 
of coast down here." 

“There are plenty of places for that," agreed 
Mr. Grayson. “But it would require a good sized 
fleet and a mighty close search to look over the 
whole Colombian coast." 

“That's just the trouble," complained the of- 
ficer. “Our people seem to think all we have to 
do is to loaf along here and let the Huns come out 
and tell where to look. You can’t make ’em see 
that there's a couple of thousand miles of coast 
all cut up into natural harbors and bays and inlets 
and rivers and creeks, anyone of which would 
shelter a battle-squadron without anyone seeing it 
a dozen miles off." 

“Regular needle in a haystack proposition, eh ?" 


i 4 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

remarked Mr. Wilson. “Can't the natives give 
you any information ?” 

“They can, but they won’t/’ declared the lieuten- 
ant. “They’re all pro-Germans, or rather anti- 
Americans, in Colombia. But I can’t blame ’em 
for that; we grabbed Panama away from them 
and the Dutchmen have always furnished them 
with all their business and money. Besides, the 
Huns own a lot of property along this coast and 
don’t let anyone land on it if they know it. But 
you gentlemen might help us a lot. You’re bound 
for a little-known part of the country and you 
might see or hear something mighty useful to us.” 

“We’ll be more than glad to report anything we 
find out,” Mr. Wilson assured him. “But how 
can we communicate it?” 

The officer considered for a moment. “I have 
it!” he exclaimed at last. “The ‘Rogers’ is over 
here somewhere, — she’s a fast destroyer, you 
know, — and we’re to meet her tomorrow for or- 
ders. I’ll tell Benson about you and ask him to 
keep an eye on the Goajira coast for the next two 
or three weeks. If you want to communicate, just 
light three fires in a row at night, or make three 
smokes during the day, — that’s part of your Boy 
Scout training, isn’t it, boys? — and Benson’ll know 
what it means and send a boat ashore. There 
may be nothing doing here, you know; but we’ve 
got a hunch that there’s something funny going on 


AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 15 

over beyond Rio Hacha and if you don’t notice 
anything strange we’ll give up and hunt some- 
where else. Well, we must be off now. Mighty 
glad I met you all,” and shaking hands all around, 
the commander of the submarine clambered back 
into the conning-tower; the rapid-fire gun sunk to 
its bed below the deck-plates and, ere the small 
boat had reached the schooner, only the slender 
periscope and its tiny wake marked the rapidly de- 
parting submarine. 

“Won’t it be jolly looking for a Hun base!” ex- 
claimed Fred as they stepped aboard the schooner. 

“Aye, we’re real Scouts now,” replied Rob. 
“Hoot, mon! dinna ye feel proud o’ the reesponi- 
beelity reposed in ye by your Uncle Samuel?” 

Everyone laughed at Rob’s serious tone and for 
a long time the conversation was all of the pos- 
sibilities of the Germans having a submarine base 
in the vicinity. 

“Do you really think there’s a Hun base down 
here?” asked Fred. “I don’t see how a place of 
that sort could be hidden so no one could find it.” 

“It’s not at all impossible, nor even improbable,” 
replied Mr. Grayson. “Most of the coast of Co- 
lombia and Venezuela is uninhabited and many 
miles of it are unexplored, while the tropical jungle 
would screen anything in the way of ships or build- 
ings if they were a short distance up one of the 
streams or estuaries. For example, take the Goa- 


16 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

jira peninsula which projects into the sea between 
Venezuela and Colombia. No one really knows any- 
thing about it. When the Spaniards discovered it 
the country was said to have been inhabited by a 
race of gigantic Indians who drove off the Europe- 
ans. No doubt the size of the natives was exagger- 
ated as an excuse for being defeated so easily, but 
the fact remains that from that day to this no white 
man has ever been able to penetrate the peninsula. 
Expeditions which have attempted it have either 
disappeared or have been driven off with great loss 
of life. It is reputed to be a very rich country 
with much gold and this is borne out by the fact 
that the Indians near the coast occasionally come 
into Rio Hacha or Maracaibo and make purchases 
for which they pay in raw gold. There is also 
a persistent tale of a race of white Indians in the 
interior of Goajira. ,, 

“White Indians !” exclaimed Fred in surprise. 
“Why, that's what you called those that captured 
us in Costa Rica. Are they the same tribe?” 

“Of course not,” replied the scientist. “I called 
those fellows ‘white’; but they were real Indians, 
I believe, while these down here are supposed to 
be really white; blondes, in fact. I believe the story 
to be true, as I actually have seen a few individuals 
of the race in Rio Hacha. But I don’t believe they 
are Indians at all, — probably descendants of some 
European expedition which was cut off in the 


AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 


17 

jungle many years ago and who have managed to 
survive and keep their race pure. Their features 
and appearance are far more Caucasian than 
Indian/’ 

“ ’T would be a bonny spot to explore, I’m 
thinkin’,” remarked Rob. “Mon, but think o’ the 
adventures a body’d have.” 

“Plenty of excitement, I expect,” laughed the 
scientist. “The Mogollones are said to have a 
playful custom of slicing off the soles of their 
captives’ feet so they cannot run away. They are 
also supposed to be cannibals.” 

“I don’t believe even a Mogollon could eat a 
Scotchman,” laughed Fred. “But anyway, I would 
like to see those white Indians.” 

“So would I and many another scientist,” said 
Mr. Grayson. “But so far, no man has ever 
reached their district, although plenty have tried. 
You may possibly see a few at Rio Hacha, how- 
ever. Possibly too, Cabral can tell us something, 
— it was part of his plan to go into Goajira through 
the back door so to speak.” 

“I should think you two boys would have had 
enough of exploring and getting into trouble with 
Indians,” remarked Mr. Wilson who had been 
listening to the conversation. “I shouldn’t imagine 
all your experiences in Costa Rica were very en- 
joyable.” 

“Oh, we had a fine time,” declared Fred. “Of 


18 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


course we didn’t enjoy it all the time; but looking 
back on it, ’twas a heap of fun.” 

“Dinna you think the green stones would help us 
with yon Mogollones?” queried Rob. 

Mr. Grayson laughed. “I’m afraid not,” he re- 
plied. “They were mighty useful in Costa Rica 
and Panama because the Indians there knew the 
snake-headed god and its significance. The Mo- 
gollones are a different race, however, and wouldn’t 
care anything about the charms except to covet 
them as ornaments. No, boys, don’t imagine we’re 
going to try to get into Goajira. Sometime I in- 
tend to come back here with a properly equipped 
expedition and make the attempt; but I don’t in- 
tend trying it by myself, — or even with the help 
of you two boys. Discretion is the better part of 
valor, you know, and I have need for the soles 
of my feet for some time yet.” 

“Well, if it’s so dangerous how could the Ger- 
mans have a base here?” demanded Fred, again 
returning to the original subject. “Wouldn’t the 
Indians drive them off?” 

“The Indians don’t live on the coast,” replied 
Mr. Grayson. “And if the Huns have a base here 
you may be sure it is well protected and fortified. 
If the Germans didn’t attempt to go into the in- 
terior I don’t think the Indians would molest them 
and you may be sure the Huns would not go far 
from their base. The quieter they keep and the 


AN UNEXPECTED VISIT 


19 


less they let their presence be known the better 
for them. However, I really doubt if there is any 
such base. There are all sorts of rumors afloat 
and this is probably one of them.” 

'‘Well, I hope there is and that we find it,” de- 
clared Fred. “Wouldn’t it be a fine thing to tell 
the boys when we go back to Colon ?” 

“And old Capt’n Jack, too,” added Rob. 

“Remember, you must first catch your hare be- 
fore you cook him,” admonished Mr. Wilson. 

“And don’t forget we’re hunting for Cabral and 
not for Germans,” laughed the scientist. “Hello, 
there’s Rio Hacha ahead! We’ll soon have your 
‘Cabral person’ now, boys.” 



The Alcalde 


T HE boys had not expected to find a large 
town at Rio Hacha, but they were not 
prepared for the miserable, filthy, ram- 
shackle village in which they found themselves 
when they stepped ashore from the small boat. 
The thatched, wattled houses were raised on short 
posts above the muddy ground and pigs, chickens 
and other live stock wallowed and fed in the muck 
beneath the dwellings. The streets were unpaved, 
filthy, and filled with refuse. Naked children 
played in the gutters with pigs and mangy, flea- 
worried dogs, and everywhere was a fetid, op- 
pressive stench of rotting vegetation, sewage 
and stale rum. Indeed, the sweetish, sickly odor 
of rum was the most prominent of all, for every 
other building appeared to be a drinking place and, 
judging from appearances, half of the male pop- 


20 


THE ALCALDE 


21 


ulation was engaged in drinking the fiery native 
liquor while the other half slumbered in doorways. 
But the moment the party from the schooner ap- 
peared, the slumberers awoke, the shops were for- 
saken and men, women and children swarmed 
about the strangers, chattering like a flock of par- 
roquets and asking innumerable questions. 

“I shouldn’t think these people had ever seen a 
visitor before,” declared Fred. 'They act as if 
we were regular curiosities.” 

“We are, in a way,” replied Mr. Grayson. “Few 
strangers visit the village and still fewer Amer- 
icans. I expect many of these people have never 
seen a Yankee boy before.” 

“And I’ll bet they’ve never seen a Scot,” added 
Rob. 

“With the entire population here it should be 
easy to get some information regarding Cabral,” 
said Mr. Wilson. “We won’t have to call on the 
town-crier or advertise in the local papers. All 
we have to do is to ask for him here and everyone 
in Rio Hacha will hear us.” 

Suiting his actions to his words, Mr. Wilson 
asked if anyone knew of Pedro Esquival Cabral or 
his whereabouts. 

Instantly everyone commenced shouting and 
gesticulating at once and two burly mulattoes 
pushed through the crowd and announced that 
they were the brothers Cabral, — Pedro and Esqui- 


22 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


val. They seemed deeply disappointed when Mr. 
Wilson declared they were not the Cabral and 
tried their best to convince him that a Cabral with 
two Christian names was not nearly as valuable 
as two Cabrals with the same names divided be- 
tween them. But in the midst of their argument 
they were interrupted by a hawk-nosed, shifty- 
eyed individual who declared he could divulge the 
whereabouts of the desired party for the sum of 
ten pesos. 

“I expect he’s a fraud,” declared Mr. Grayson. 
“But he may know something,” and turning to 
the fawning native he offered him a peso. The 
man seemed highly insulted, muttered angrily, 
strutted and then begged for five pesos. Finally, 
convinced that the strangers could not be fright- 
ened or cajoled into paying more, he accepted the 
single coin and fulfilled his part of the bargain by 
declaring that Cabral was “somewhere else.” This 
tickled the boys immensely and even Mr. Wilson 
and Mr. Grayson had to join in the roar of laugh- 
ter that followed the man’s smart trick. 

The captain of the schooner now arrived on the 
scene. “It’s of no avail questioning this rabble, 
Senores,” he said. “Senor Cabral was a gentleman 
and would be unknown to these people. Let us go 
to the hotel and the Alcalde and we will secure in- 
formation.” 

Following after the captain, the party picked 


THE ALCALDE 


23 


their way through the filthy streets and came to a 
better and cleaner part of the town. Here there 
were a number of wooden houses, a tiny plaza, 
several shops and some attempt at order and clean- 
liness. Over the door of a weather-beaten and 
dilapidated building were the words “Gran Hotel 
Europa” in large letters and to this place the guide 
led them. 

“Oh, Rob, isn’t this rich?” cried Fred as they 
climbed the rickety stairs and entered the hotel. 
“Did you ever see anything like it?” 

“Hist, mon ! where’s your manners ?” replied Rob 
in mock reproval. “Dinna ye realize ’tis the lead- 
ing hostelry of the metropolis of Rio Hacha?” 

“Airy and well ventilated,” chuckled Fred, 
pointing to the many cracks in the walls and the 
shafts of sunshine streaming through the holes in 
the roof. 

“An’ the abiding place o’ the big bugs of Co- 
lombia,” added Rob, as a huge, black cockroach 
scurried across the dirty floor. 

There was good reason for the boys’ amusement, 
for the Gran Hotel Europa was the worst apology 
for a hotel that one could well imagine. A worm- 
eaten, battered table, littered with old newspapers 
and cigarette stubs, represented the office. Gaudy 
advertisements of patent medicines decorated the 
walls and a large room, above the door of which 
was painted “Sala,” was bare of all furnishings 


24 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

save a few broken-down, bent-wood chairs and a 
ragged hammock, while its walls were completely 
papered with old illustrated newspapers. 

The captain rapped loudly on the walls and 
shouted and at the sound a frowsy, pa jama-clad 
person raised a tousled head from the hammock 
and stared dully at the strangers with blood-shot 
eyes and then, with a sigh sank back to resume his 
interrupted siesta. Presently, a dirty Indian girl 
shuffled into sight and listlessly asked what was 
wanted. To Mr. Wilson’s questions she replied 
that she remembered the Senor Cabral. A for- 
eigner and very rich of a truth, for had he not 
given her the whole of two pesos as a tip. Yes, 
he had stopped at the hotel; but he had gone, — 
it might be two weeks or two months ago, she 
could not say, for how could she remember, when 
each day was so like another ? Where had he gone ? 
To Venezuela, she thought; but it might be to 
America or Spain or even Europe ; how could she 
say, when there were so many places to which one 
might go ? 

“I should think he would have gone, after stop- 
ping here!” exclaimed Fred. “I wonder if she 
knows anything.” 

“She knows enough to take a tip,” replied Mr. 
Wilson as he thanked the girl and handed her a 
peseta. “Come on, I guess the Alcalde’s our last 
resort,” he continued, and following the captain, 


THE ALCALDE 


^5 


the party left the hotel and crossed the plaza to a 
huge, rambling structure with “Alcaldia” painted 
over the doorway. A ragged urchin, clad in blue 
denim, appeared from the shade of a mango tree 
and presented arms with an ancient, rusty carbine 
grasped in one hand while with the other he 
pressed a mango to his mouth, and at once dodged 
back to his shade as the party passed on. 

His double appeared from nowhere and inquired 
the business of the Americans, as they mounted 
the steps and entered the doorway, and then pro- 
duced stiff, native chairs, covered with jaguar 
skin, in which he bade the visitors be seated while 
he summoned the Alcalde. 

“This is a comic-opera town, Grayson,” de- 
clared Mr. Wilson as the diminutive soldier 
scurried across the plaza. “Imagine the mayor 
leaving the city hall in charge of these chaps. 
Evidently the municipal duties are not very oner- 
ous here.” 

“Not much different from most little Colom- 
bian towns,” replied the other. “Probably all the 
Alcalde gets is what he receives in tips and graft; 
but Fll warrant there are more officials here than 
in the capital of any one of our states.” 

At this moment they were startled by a blood- 
curdling yell from within the building, and which 
was followed by curses and howls. 


26 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“What is that awful noise ?” cried Fred. “Is 
someone being murdered?” 

“Sounds like it,” replied Mr. Wilson. “Per- 
haps we’d better investigate.” 

“The army’s coming to do that,” chuckled Mr. 
Grayson. “I expect it’s some prisoners kicking up 
a rumpus. The back of this place is the jail.” 

“I’m going to see what ’tis,” declared Fred as 
the “army,” in the shape of the denim-clad sentry, 
pattered up the steps still munching a mango, and, 
accompanied by Rob, Fred hurried after the little 
soldier who grinned amiably at them. 

At the end of the corridor the sentry stopped 
and unfastening a ponderous old-fashioned lock, 
opened a heavy door and spoke rapidly and with 
many curses. Peering over his shoulders, the boys 
saw a small room with barred windows and a pair 
of stocks in one corner. Seated upon the floor, or 
stretched at full length on dirty blankets, were 
half a dozen men who gave not the slightest heed 
to a couple of negroes who were struggling in the 
center of the room among the litter of playing 
cards and small coins. At the sound of the 
sentry’s voice the two ceased fighting and both 
began to jabber excitedly, whereupon the tiny rep- 
resentative of the law strode into the room, and, 
with kicks and blows of his carbine butt, drove the 
negroes to the stocks, locked them in and then, 
calmly pocketing the money on the floor, withdrew 


THE ALCALDE 


27 

and locked the door, — all without dropping his 
mango. 

“Pardon, Senores, for the molestation of your 
comfort which was caused,” he said, turning to 
the boys. “But they are desperate criminals and 
forever quarreling. They should have been shot 
long ago, but the Sehor Alcalde is soft-hearted 
and they are of the English Jamaica and one can- 
not lightly shoot such, for their English king is 
a fool and makes his consuls to waste time by 
demanding trials even for such pigs. Is it not a 
regret, Senores, that such may be permitted to 
disturb one’s siesta and the comfort of illustrious 
visitors by their noise. Now, if I were the Al- 
calde ” 

But what would have happened had the blood- 
thirsty little soldier been Alcalde the boys never 
learned, for the Alcalde himself had arrived and, 
at sound of his footsteps mounting the stairs, 
the sentry scurried forward and stood stiffly at 
attention as the mayor entered. 

At sight of the Alcalde the boys had all they 
could do to control their mirth. He was very tall 
and enormously fat, with a flabby, leather colored 
face adorned with huge, bristling, white mustaches 
and with pale, watery blue eyes. He was clad in 
tight-fitting white trousers and a faded blue coat 
covered with frayed and tarnished gold braid 
while his feet were shod in high black boots bear- 


28 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


in g enormous jangling spurs. Upon his head was 
a tiny white-duck cap with tortoise-shell visor; a 
soiled bath towel was tied about his neck ; he wore 
a broad leather belt in which was an ugly-looking 
pistol and he was mopping his streaming face with 
a yellow and purple bandana handkerchief as he 
puffed and panted from the exertion of climbing 
the short flight of steps. 

Gravely shaking hands with his visitors, he in- 
quired the reason he had been honored by their 
presence and placed himself and his country at 
their disposal. His thin, squeaky, high-pitched 
voice was so out of keeping with his elephantine 
proportions that the boys became scarlet with sup- 
pressed laughter; but at his first words in reply 
to Mr. Wilson’s questions they became sober and 
attentive. 

“Ah, yes,” he squeaked, “I know the Senor 
Cabral well, — my dear friend he was while he 
honored our poor city with his presence. And a 
brave man, for did he not attempt to go into the 
country of the Mogollones! But he was obliged 
to return, for his men refused to go beyond the 
first mountains. And since he has departed there 
has been no man of the world, of culture and edu- 
cation with whom I, of the family of Nunez and of 
the education of the College of Bogota, may hold 
converse. Where has he gone? — you ask. To 
Maracaibo, Senores; there to seek a ship for La 


THE ALCALDE 


29 


Guaira, — if God wills that he arrives, — for he was 
firm of his mind to land on Goajira. to inspect the 
richness of timber, for has he not a concession 
from His Excellency the President to cut the 
woods that in Goajira are of such a value/’ 

“Looks as if we’d have to go to Maracaibo,” re- 
marked Mr. Wilson. “Cabral seems to be lead- 
ing us a long chase. But now we’ve come so far 
we might as well keep on. How did he go to 
Maracaibo, Senor Alcalde ?” 

“He purchased here a sloop and for crew took 
two Indian lads, with Pepe, a mestizo, for his 
captain,” replied Nunez. “She was a good boat, 
Senores,” he added, “and Pepe knows the coast 
as he knows his own finca. Of a truth, he will 
arrive in safety if he risks not landing on that 
accursed shore.” 

Thanking the Alcalde for his information and 
apologizing for disturbing him, the party rose to 
leave; but the Alcalde would not listen to this. 
No indeed; the Americans must be fatigued and 
famished; they must have breakfast with him; he 
would be desolated if they refused. And so, de- 
spite their desire to be off, his invitation was 
accepted and telling the captain to get the crew 
together and be ready to sail as soon as they 
came aboard, the party adjourned to the Alcalde’s 
house just beyond the confines of the village. 

Much to the boys’ surprise the mayor’s residence 


3 o THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

was really charming; a low, wooden bungalow set 
in the midst of a lovely flower garden enclosed by 
high stone walls and shaded by scarlet flowered 
Poinciana trees and Royal palms and half hidden 
in masses of climbing roses and flaming Bougain- 
villea. Inside, the house was neat and clean and 
lavishly furnished, though in a most incongruous 
manner. Ranged about the sides of the rooms 
were chairs, settees and rockers of bent wood ; the 
walls were hung with gaudy chromos of illus- 
trious generals, European monarchs and battle 
scenes mingled with religious subjects, and from 
the ceiling hung immense, old, cut-glass cande- 
labra. Moth-eaten animal skins covered the 
floors and innumerable shaky tables groaned un- 
der a miscellaneous collection of sea-shells, gilt 
vases filled with artificial flowers, water worn agate 
pebbles, china animals, old newspapers and mag- 
azines and battered photograph albums. On an 
ornate easel was a cheap crayon enlargement of 
the Alcalde in the resplendent uniform of a gen- 
eral of the Colombian army and on a similar easel 
in the opposite corner was another enlargement 
of a dusky woman in high tortoise-shell comb and 
mantilla. The furnishings were completed by 
earthenware ollas, ornate cuspidors and porcelain 
animals scattered about the floor, while a life-sized 
celluloid doll baby occupied a place of honor on 


THE ALCALDE 


3i 


top of a piano which might well have been brought 
over with Columbus. 

Leaving his guests seated in the formally ar- 
ranged chairs and bidding them make themselves 
entirely at home, the Alcalde excused himself and 
waddled off towards the rear of the house. 

As his footfalls became faint and a door banged, 
Mr. Grayson rose and hastily rummaged through 
the periodicals and papers on the tables. “Looks 
as if we might find something besides Cabral!” he 
exclaimed as he examined a paper-bound book. 
“Look here, Wilson!” 

Mr. Wilson stepped to the scientist’s side. “By 
Jove, yes !” he ejaculated. 

“Why, that’s German!” cried Fred, who was 
peering past his father at the pamphlet. 

“Hush, not so loud!” Mr. Grayson cautioned 
him. “Did you notice anything peculiar about our 
Alcalde friend?” 

“No, can’t say that I did,” replied Mr. Wilson. 
“What was it?” 

“Didn’t you notice his belt?” continued the 
other. “A braided leather affair with a brass 
buckle and on the buckle ‘Gott mit uns’.” 

“Oh, well, he might have that all right,” replied 
Mr. Wilson. “There were plenty of Germans 
here; probably given to him by some friend and 
I expect you’d find German catalogues and pam- 


32 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

phlets in pretty nearly every village and house in 
Colombia. You’re too suspicious and imaginative, 
Grayson.” 

The scientist chuckled : “And you’re not trained 
to scientific observation,” he replied. “That belt 
is the standard service belt of the German army 
and this pamphlet’s published by the Kaiser’s gov- 
ernment and deals with the plans of Germany to 
wipe the Allies off the map and secure the world’s 
trade. I’ll admit our friend might possess both 
without reason for suspicion; but when the pam- 
phlet has 'To my esteemed friend, Don Jose Nunez, 
from Underlieutenant Franz Engel,’ written on 
its fly-leaf and when Nunez carries a Hun naval 
revolver and wears German marine’s boots, I smell 
a rat. Hist, here he comes!” 

Replacing the pamphlet on the table, Mr. Gray- 
son resumed his seat and, an instant later, the 
Alcalde entered. He had doffed coat, cap, towel, 
belt and pistol, as well as boots and spurs, and 
was clad in loose-fitting linen and smilingly in- 
formed his visitors that breakfast was ready. The 
meal was served on a broad gallery at the rear 
of the house and the doves and chickens made 
themselves quite at home, picking up crumbs be- 
neath the table and now and again fluttering up to 
the table top, only to be shooed off by the Alcalde. 
This was very amusing to the boys whose sense 
of humor was still further aroused bv the incon- 


THE ALCALDE 


33 

gruity of the table ware. The forks, spoons and 
serving dishes were all of solid old Spanish silver, 
and the frayed and patched table cloth was of the 
finest hand-made lace ; but the crockery was of the 
cheapest and ugliest ware and badly chipped and 
cracked at that. The food was served by a num- 
ber of mestizo boys and girls who seemed con- 
stantly to be running back and forth with dishes 
and viands, and the boys were utterly bewildered 
at the number of courses until they discovered that 
each vegetable was brought in by itself as a dis- 
tinct course. But the food was good and the boys 
were hungry and, despite their excitement over 
Mr. Grayson’s discoveries, they made an excellent 
meal. When they had finished the Alcalde insisted 
upon showing them over his house and grounds, 
in which he took great pride, and apologized at 
every step for the disorder and neglect, explain- 
ing that his wife was in Cartagena and it was im- 
possible to secure efficient servants. But at last 
the inspection was over; the Americans had ad- 
mired the flowers and fruits, had seen the chickens 
and pigs and doves, had complimented the owner 
on his charming home and, having thanked him 
warmly for his hospitality, bade him good-by and 
made their way towards the beach. 

“Do you really think he’s a German spy?” asked 
Fred as soon as they were out of earshot of the 
house. 


34 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“Of course not,” replied Mr. Grayson. “There’s 
no need for a spy here, — nothing to spy on, you 
know. Colombia has never declared war on Ger- 
many and it’s nobody’s business how many Ger- 
mans live here or what dealings the natives have 
with them. But I do believe our Nunez friend has 
lately been in close touch with a German warship. 
Half his stores and provisions are German made. 
Of course, everything I’ve mentioned may have 
come from one of the Hun ships interned in a 
Colombian port; but I’m beginning to think there 
is some truth in the rumor of a submarine base 
on this coast and I’ll bet the Alcalde could tell 
something about it if he wanted to.” 

“Then let’s signal for that destroyer!” ex- 
claimed Fred. 

“Nonsense!” ejaculated his father. “Grayson’s 
just trying to get you boys excited over nothing. 
He’s a regular kid himself.” 

“No, I’m in earnest, Wilson,” declared the sci- 
entist. “But it would be nonsense to signal the 
destroyer, I admit. Even if Nunez knows all 
about a base our men couldn’t make him tell and 
they have no authority to land here. It would 
merely cause trouble.” 

“Then what good would it do for them to find 
a submarine base?” inquired Rob. 

“That’s a different matter,” explained Mr. Gray- 


THE ALCALDE 


35 

son. “A base is a breach of neutrality and our 
boys wouldn’t stop to ask whether or not they had 
a right on Colombian soil if they found one. It 
would be a case of hang first and try afterwards.” 

“Well, I do hope we find a Hun base,” an- 
nounced Fred. “Not a chance of it,” said his 
father, decisively. “We’re going straight to Mar- 
acaibo from here and as soon as we find Cabral 
we’re off for Colon. This is a purely business trip, 
you must remember.” 

“Supposing we find Cabral has gone to La 
Guajira?” asked Fred, winking at Rob. 

“I won’t promise,” replied his father. “Al- 
though I suppose I’ll have to go chasing after him 
if I ever expect to have peace again.” 

“Man proposes and God disposes,” remarked 
Rob, sagely. “Do you mind the time when a cer- 
tain scientific gentleman made a statement regard- 
ing a certain mine bein’ lost for three hundred 
years and not bein’ on the itinerary of the jaunt 
we were taking?” 

“That’s a good dig at you, Grayson,” chuckled 
Mr. Wilson. “Well, if Fate takes a hand here as 
it did with you boys before, I suppose I’ll have 
to stand back.” 

The party had now reached the landing-place 
and all were soon aboard the schooner, and, half 
an hour later, Rio Hacha was a mere speck against 


3 6 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

the greenery of the shores far astern. Ahead, and 
stretching inland to the distant blue mountains, 
was the unbroken, unknown jungle of Goajira, and 
the boys scanned it eagerly as they skirted along 
the coast. 



Shipwrecked 


T HE four slept on deck and were rudely 
awakened by a terrific crash and the ter- 
rified cries of the crew and, before they 
could rise, all were rolled head-over-heels into the 
scuppers. 

Dazed and frightened, the two boys scrambled 
to their feet, holding to the shrouds to steady them- 
selves, and found the schooner heeled far over to 
one side and with sails, ropes and rigging flapping* 
about, while the captain and crew were crawling 
like huge monkeys along the slanting deck and 
shouting, gesticulating and cursing. 

“Wha — what’s the matter?” cried Fred, as his 
father and Mr. Grayson drew themselves up be- 
side the boys. 

“We’ve run aground,” replied Mr. Wilson, “and 
struck hard, too. Why doesn’t that confounded 
skipper get in the sails, — she’ll carry away her 
sticks in a moment!” 


37 


38 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“He’s too frightened to do anything,” declared 
the scientist. 

“Come along, boys, we’ll have to get in the 
canvas by ourselves,” and as he spoke Mr. Gray- 
son clawed his way to the halliards, followed by 
Mr. Wilson and the boys. “Haul the sheet flat, 
Wilson,” he shouted, “and we’ll lower away,” and 
a moment later the big mainsail came down on the 
run. Then, hurrying forward as rapidly as the 
sloping deck would permit, and shouting at the 
captain and crew, who were attempting to launch 
the boat, the scientist and his companions reached 
the foresail halliards and lowered that sail. This 
accomplished, Mr. Grayson turned his attention 
to the men still about the small boat, and seizing 
a wooden belaying pin and striking right and left, 
he sprang among them and by threats and blows 
drove them from the boat-tackle. The schooner, 
relieved of the pressure on her sails, had now 
righted and was on an almost even keel and the 
crew, noticing this and more afraid of the raging 
American and his belaying pin than of drowning, 
ceased their shouting, but, still muttering, clustered 
about the fore-hatch. 

Calling to the captain to sound the well and find 
out if the schooner was leaking badly, Mr. Grayson 
turned to his companions. “Well, she can’t sink 
far anyway,” he announced, wiping the perspira- 
tion from his face. “The old craft’s hard and fast 


SHIPWRECKED 


39 


aground and I guess there’s nothing to do but sit 
tight and wait for daylight. I wonder how that 
fool captain managed to put her on the reef on a 
clear night like this ?” 

‘‘Went to sleep, I expect,” replied Mr. Wilson. 
“Lucky these native boats are built of hard wood 
and heavy enough for battleships. Any ordinal 
craft would have gone to pieces with such a blow.” 

“And still luckier the sea is smooth,” added Mr. 
Grayson. 

“An’ luckiest of all that we had ye along, sir,” 
put in Rob. “Hoot, mon ! I didna ken ye was sich 
a braw sailor-man, Mr. Grayson.” 

“Yes, you should have been a sea-captain,” 
laughed Fred. “Gee, it was fine the way you 
waded into that bunch about the boat!” 

The captain now appeared and reported two feet 
of water, and he was promptly ordered to man the* 
pump. Muttering that ’twas of no use, he slunk 
away and a moment later the steady clank of the 
pump proved he had obeyed orders, despite his 
misgivings. 

“Will we have to take to the boats?” asked 
Fred. 

“Can’t say until daylight, when we can have a 
look about,” replied the scientist. “There’s scarce- 
ly any tide here, but even a fpot will help, and if 
we struck at low water we may be able to get her 
off at high tide. It depends on how she struck 


4 o THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

and whether or not she’s leaking too much to 
float.” 

‘‘We’ll know soon now,” announced Mr. Wil- 
son. “It’s only an hour to daylight. Hello, the 
pump’s stopped!” 

Calling to the skipper, Mr. Grayson demanded 
to know why the pump was not kept going and 
was told that it sucked dry. 

“Try it again in ten minutes,” he shouted back. 

But when the pump had been used for another 
fifteen minutes it again sucked. 

“I guess she’ll float if we get her off,” declared 
Mr. Grayson. “We may have to keep pumping to 
keep her up ; but unless she starts another leak we 
can hold our own, I think.” 

Thus talking and discussing the chances of 
reaching Maracadibo in the schooner, the four 
passed the time until the eastern sky turned to 
gold and day dawned with tropic suddenness. For- 
tunately the sea still remained calm, with scarce a 
hint of waves or swell. As soon as it was really 
light the boat was lowered and Mr. Grayson, Mr. 
Wilson and the captain paddled it slowly about 
the schooner, peering into the clear water and con- 
stantly sounding. 

“She’s resting on a narrow coral reef,” an- 
nounced the scientist as the three again boarded 
the schooner, “and she’s fast just forward of 
amidships. If we can get her stern down by shift- 


SHIPWRECKED 


4i 


ing ballast we may be able to haul her off with the 
windlass. Well eat breakfast first and then have 
a try at it.” 

“The tide is rising, according to the captain,” 
said Mr. Wilson. “We have that to be thankful 
for.” 

While breakfast was being prepared the men, 
now quite brave and cheerful, were kept busy shift- 
ing the stone and pig-iron ballast to the stern of 
the vessel and in getting together all the available 
cable. When this was done, the cable and anchor 
were placed in the boat and carried several hun- 
dred feet astern, where the anchor was dropped 
back of a small reef. Then the cable was laid 
along the decks, a turn was taken around the cap- 
stan and all hands, including the boys, bent to the 
capstan bars. The thick rope tightened, strained 
and cracked, but the schooner held fast and not 
another inch of cable could be gained. 

“We’ll have to clap on a tackle,” declared Mr. 
Wilson. “We can’t get purchase enough here. 
Too bad she hasn’t a modern, geared winch.” Ac- 
cordingly, the heavy halliard blocks were taken 
down, the cable was made fast to the blocks, the 
halliards were led to the capstan and once more 
everyone heaved with all their strength at the bars. 

“Heave ho ! Heave ho !” shouted Mr. Grayson, 
and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the cable came in. 

“Bully! Hurrah!” yelled the boys, and thus 


42 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

encouraged, all redoubled their efforts. Inch by 
inch the capstan turned; inch by inch the rope 
wound in and then, so suddenly that the men flew 
sprawling on the decks, the capstan spun round, 
there was a scraping, grating sound, a jolt, and the 
schooner slipped from the coral and floated on the 
sea. The boys cheered and danced, Mr. Wilson 
and Mr. Grayson clapped each other on the back; 
the crew picked themselves up and grinned, and the 
captain fervently crossed himself and thanked the 
Saints for saving his schooner. 

But it was soon evident to all that their troubles 
were not over, for the vessel was leaking badly 
and rested heavily and sluggishly upon the water. 
At once the pump was started, while some of the 
men shifted the ballast back and, as soon as the 
pump sucked, the cables and anchor were taken in 
and sails hoisted. But by the time this was ac- 
complished the schooner had again settled appre- 
ciably and once more the pump was manned. 

“Looks as if we’re out of the frying pan and 
into the fire,” remarked Mr. Wilson. “Do you 
think we’ll be able to keep her afloat until we make 
Maracaibo, Grayson?” 

“I expect we opened another seam pulling her 
off,” replied the other, “and we may increase the 
leaks as soon as the strain of her sails begins to 
tell. It’s nip and tuck to keep up with the leaks 
now and I think we’d better put in somewhere and 


SHIPWRECKED 


43 

make temporary repairs. There must be some 
place where we can careen her. I’ll ask the cap- 
tain.” 

“Yes,” he announced, as he returned from a 
conference with the skipper. “He says it’s the only 
thing to be done and he knows just the place for 
the work, — a sheltered lagoon with a good beach 
and deep water close inshore. Says he careened a 
vessel there once before.” 

“But isn’t that the Goajira coast off there?” 
asked Fred, pointing to the shore towards which 
the schooner was heading. 

“Yes, it’s Goajira, but there’s no danger from 
Indians there, the captain tells me. I guess we 
needn’t be afraid if he and his crew are not.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of the danger,” declared 
Fred. “I’d like nothing better than to land on 
Goajira.” 

“Aye, ’twill be a bonny lark,” added Rob. “An’ 
I’m thinkin’ Fate is takin’ a wee bit interest in this 
trip. Eh, Mr. Wilson?” 

Although the coast was but a few miles distant 
it began to look as if the schooner would never 
make it, for even with the light breeze, the leaks 
were being increased every moment and the men 
were compelled to keep the pumps going ceaseless- 
ly. Even so, the incoming water held its own and 
the pump failed to make any impression. Indeed, 
within two hours after leaving the reef, the water 


44 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

actually had gained a few inches and the schooner 
rolled and wallowed along like a water-logged 
wreck. 

But with each anxious moment that passed the 
shore grew more and more distinct and the boys 
could make out the trees and shrubbery, the en- 
trances to tiny bays and the slender threads of 
streams where they flowed across the beach. Then, 
some rocky islets came into view; an inlet opened 
in the foliage beyond and, slipping by the islands, 
the schooner passed between a palm-clad, sandy 
point and a rocky headland and entered a broad, 
landlocked lagoon. With deck almost awash, with 
cascades of water pouring from her scuppers to 
the frantic strokes of the pump and with scarce a 
breath of air to fill her sails, the rapidly-sinking 
vessel drifted across the lagoon and entered a nar- 
row channel between dense walls of mangroves. 
Hastily the boat was lowered, a line was run out 
and the men, tugging lustily at the oars, slowly 
towed the schooner up the winding waterway 
among the trees. Then, just as the water lapped 
the decks, the channel opened out into a beautiful, 
lake-like expanse with a steep sandy beach on its 
further side. A moment later, the vessel touched 
bottom close to the beach and everyone breathed 
a sigh of relief. 

“I don't see as we're much better off," declared 


SHIPWRECKED 


45 

Fred. “The schooner’s sunk now. How are we 
going to stop the leaks when she’s full of water ?” 

“The first thing is to lighten her,” replied Mr. 
Grayson, “by stripping off all the sails and rig- 
ging ; taking all the supplies and fittings ashore and 
pumping out all the water possible and then, at 
high water, we’ll haul her in as far as we can. 
In a couple of tides we ought to get her consider- 
ably nearer shore and then, if we can keep the 
water under control, we’ll take out the ballast, 
move her in near enough to clap a tackle on her 
masts and heave her down. Then we can caulk 
part of the leaks on one side and will be able to 
pump her drier and heave her over the other way 
and caulk that side. Every leak we stop makes it 
easier to pump her out and get her nearer the 
beach, until we can get at all the seams. It’s going 
to be a hard job and take time; but it’s the only 
solution.” 

“Oh, we don’t mind staying here a month,” de- 
clared Fred. “There’s fish and game and it’s a 
jolly place to explore. Why, we’re right in the 
midst of the jungle and hidden from the whole 
world. Wouldn’t it be a fine spot for pirates?” 

“Or for a Hun base?” suggested Mr. Wilson, 
with a wink. 

“I can understand how there could be a subma- 
rine base here, now I see this place,” said Fred. 


46 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“No one would ever guess there was a lagoon here. 
It’s completely hidden by those islands and a boat 
could pass right by and never guess it.” 

“But there isn’t any base, nevertheless,” replied 
his father. “We’re the sole occupants and you 
boys are welcome to enjoy yourselves by poking 
about and pretending to find Huns or pirates or 
anything else, provided you don’t go too far and 
don’t get lost. Besides, we’ll depend on your guns 
and fishing tackle to supply us with food. We 
haven’t any too large a supply of provisions 
aboard.” 

“You’ll need a boat,” said Mr. Grayson. “The 
captain tells me this beach is on an island, but that 
the mainland is only a mile or so away, over to 
the south. He says a good-sized river flows irto 
the lagoon and you can tell where it is by the cur- 
rent. You can take that little cayuca that the cap- 
tain has lashed on the deck-house, as we’ll need 
the boat. But don’t get lost in the mangroves. 
These channels are a regular labyrinth; but if 
you’re in any doubt keep headed north and follow 
the flow of the tide.” 

“Oh, we won’t get lost,” declared Fred, confi- 
dently. 

“An’ if we do we’ll fire three shots and ye can 
answer,” added Rob, with true Scotch caution. 

The boys were all excitement to get away and, 
after a second hearty breakfast, for all had worked 


\ 


\ 


\ 


FLOCKS OF HERONS ROSE FROM THE TREES AND 
FLAPPED AWAY 



47 




SHIPWRECKED 


49 

hard during the morning, the little dug-out was 
launched and, well provided with guns and fishing 
tackle, the two boys paddled away and, crossing 
the little lagoon, entered the channel among the 
mangroves. 

The place teemed with life and as the canoe 
slipped noiselessly along, flocks of white and blue 
herons; croaking white ibis; rosy spoonbills and 
dazzling white egrets rose constantly from the 
trees and flapped away. Once the boys surprised 
a flock of scarlet ibis and cried out in admiration 
at the flaming creatures perched upon a tree and 
appearing like giant red flowers among the leaves. 
In the tree-tops flocks of parroquets screamed and 
chattered ; slender-necked snake-birds preened 
themselves on jutting stumps; dainty sandpipers 
and long-toed jacanas ran nimbly over the soft 
mud of the banks and queer little grebes paddled 
about and dipped beneath the water as the canoe 
approached. 

“They’re bonny pretty,” remarked Rob. “But 
I dinna see fowl fit to eat amongst them.” 

But even as he spoke there was a whirr of wings 
and a flock of tree-ducks rose from the water 
ahead. Fred grasped his gun and with a quick 
shot brought down two of the birds, and the boys 
paddled rapidly forward to secure their prizes. 
The first was picked up and dropped into the canoe 
and Fred was about to reach for the other when 


5 o THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

there was a swirl of water, a rough, black object 
shot upward from the depths, there was a vicious 
snap and the duck disappeared in an eddy of foam. 

“Alligators !” cried Fred. “Did you see him, 
Rob?” 

“Did I?” replied the Scot. “Mon, but ’tis no 
bathing place here!” 

“Golly, he nearly got my hand!” exclaimed 
Fred. “He was a whopper ! I’ll be more careful 
next time.” 

But apparently there was to be no next time, for 
the report of the gun had frightened off any game 
in the vicinity and although the boys paddled about 
for several hours, they saw no more ducks. 

“I vote we try fishing,” said Fred at last. “I 
expect it’s too late in the day for game. We can 
come back this afternoon, or else tomorrow we’ll 
start early and go over to the mainland.” 

This seemed a good idea, and tying their canoe 
to a stump, the boys tried their luck at fishing. 
At this they were more successful than in hunting 
and they soon had a fine lot of fish. Most of these 
were unfamiliar to the boys, but among the lot 
were mullet and grunts and, as Rob remarked, 
“All scale fish are good to eat,” so only the spiny, 
ugly catfish and slimy suckers were thrown away. 

When, at last, the boys were tired of fishing and 
started to return to the schooner they were in 
doubt as to which way to go. 


SHIPWRECKED 


5i 


“I think it’s that way,” declared Fred, pointing. 
“You know we turned to the right from the main 
channel and we were going down towards the first 
lagoon, so we should go up this channel and turn 
to the left.” 

“Aye, but which is down stream?” replied Rob. 
“Do you mind the current’s moving the way you 
say is hip’?” 

“Well then, the tide’s turned,” insisted Fred. 
“Remember Mr. Grayson said to follow the flow 
of the tide?” 

“Very well,” assented Rob. “But I mind we 
tied to the right side of the creek and if you’re 
right we’re on the left now. Riddle me that, my 
boy.” 

Fred looked puzzled and grinned sheepishly. 
“That’s so,” he admitted. “I guess I got turned 
around when we went after that duck.” 

Rob laughed. “Ye should imbibe a wee bit o’ 
canniness fra your Scotch chum,” he chuckled. 
“I minded we might be a bit confused an’ broke 
a twig here an’ there as we passed. Look yonder, 
Fred, and ye’ll see the last one.” 

Fred glanced at the spot Rob indicated and saw 
a broken branch of the mangrove dangling over 
the water. “You’re right and I’m wrong, Rob,” 
he confessed. “I was too sure of myself. I won- 
dered why you were grabbing the branches as we 
came along.” 


52 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

Guided by the twigs, the boys soon reached the 
main creek and, turning to the left, safely gained 
the lagoon and the schooner. 

Much had been accomplished during the boys* 
absence and on the beach was a huge pile of sails, 
cordage, anchors and spars and some of the latter, 
together with the mainsail, had been converted 
into a good-sized tent. The schooner, relieved of 
all this weight, had been moved several yards 
nearer shore and the crew was busily pumping as 
the boys approached. 

“We’re gaining on the water,” announced Mr. 
Wilson as the boys gained the deck. “The tide 
will be high in a few moments and we’ll try to get 
her further inshore. What luck did you have?” 

“Not much,” replied Fred. “We shot two 
ducks, but an alligator got one, and we’ve caught a 
good mess of fish.” 

“They’ll be mighty welcome,” declared Mr. 
Grayson. “We’re all hungry as hawks. Come on, 
boys, the tide’s full now. We’ll all give a hand 
and see if we can gain a few feet.” 

The anchors had been firmly fixed to trees 
ashore and the cables led through tackles fore and 
aft and, at the scientist’s orders, everyone hauled 
and tugged at the ropes and little by little the 
schooner was drawn closer to the shore. 

“We’ll call that a day’s work,” announced Mr. 


SHIPWRECKED 


53 


Grayson, when all efforts failed to move the ves- 
sel further. “We’ve accomplished a lot and far 
more than I expected. Gosh, that frying fish does 
smell good!” 


Mysterious Discoveries 


E ARLY the next morning the boys again set 
out in the cayuca, determined to reach the 
mainland and bring back more game. So 
confident were they of success that they hurried 
down the channel through the mangroves without 
stopping, even when a flock of ducks whirred up 
and presented an easy mark. 

But when they reached the main lagoon, they 
found a stiff breeze blowing and whipping the sur- 
face of the water into spiteful whitecaps. 

“We’ll have to follow the shores,” declared 
Fred, as the two looked forth from the shelter of 
the mangroves at the wind-swept surface. “This 
little canoe would never stand that.” 

“Well, the longest way round is the shortest 
way home,” observed Rob sagely. 

54 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 


55 

By paddling in the shelter of the mangroves, 
the canoe was kept in calm water and the boys 
kept steadily on, skirting the shores and maintain- 
ing a sharp lookout for the current of the river, 
which would tell them that the mainland was at 
hand. 

Many openings in the wall of trees were passed, 
some barely wide enough to admit the canoe and 
others broad creeks which would have accommo- 
dated a large ship. 

Waterfowl were everywhere; now and then a 
large alligator slipped from the mud and sank in 
the dark waters at the boys’ approach and once, a 
tremendous splash and a loud bellow startled the 
boys, who peered furtively among the interlaced 
mangrove roots, momentarily expecting to see 
some ferocious animal. Then, as a misshapen 
black head rose slowly from the water a few rods 
away, Fred burst out laughing. “We were silly!” 
he exclaimed. “It was only a sea-cow.” 

“Sea-cow!” cried Rob in surprise. “Sea-devil 
is more suited to yon beastie, I’m thinkin’.” 

“They are ugly,” Fred acknowledged. “But just 
the same, old Columbus thought they were mer- 
maids when he first saw them. They’re harmless 
creatures and mighty good eating; but there’s no 
use shooting at them, — they’re awfully tough and 
sink when killed. Over in Bocas del Toro they 
get them with harpoons.” 


5 o THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

A short time after the incident of the sea-cow, 
the boys noticed that it required greater efforts to 
urge the canoe forward. At first they were puz- 
zled and then it suddenly dawned upon them that 
they were in a strong current. “It's the river !” 
exclaimed Fred. “Look there, how the water 
swirls around those roots !” 

“You’re right,” agreed Rob. “But it doesn’t 
look like solid land, laddie.” 

“We’ll have to go further up, I expect,” replied 
the other. “It’s all swamp here.” 

Presently, however, the mangroves gave way to 
other trees, the muddy banks became higher and 
showed patches of vegetation and sand and soon 
the boys were paddling between brush-covered, 
sandy banks with tall trees standing high above 
the jungle. Rounding a bend, the canoe was run 
ashore at a shelving bit of bank and the boys 
stepped onto dry land. 

“Hurrah, we’re on Goajira at last!” cried Fred. 
“Now for some exploring! Isn’t it jolly to be 
where no one else has trod ?” 

“Aye, only some other body’s been here before 
us,” replied Rob. “Look here, Fred, here’s a 
trail!” 

“Gee!” exclaimed Fred, as he turned at Rob’s 
statement and saw the narrow pathway through 
the thicket. “I do believe you’re right! Perhaps 
it’s an Indian trail! Say, we’d better look out!” 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 


57 

“If it’s an Indian trail there should be canoes 
about,” argued Rob. “But we’d best be muckle 
canny. I’ve no mind to have my feet sliced, Fred, 
lad.” 

“I guess we’d better clear out,” said Fred. “I’m 
not exactly afraid; but it is kind of creepy here, 
knowing it’s unexplored and full of savages. But 
it’s an awful shame to go back after coming all 
this way, and without shooting anything.” 

“Gang awa’, Fred!” replied his friend. “There’s 
as good fish in yon sea as ever were caught, an’ 
there’s a muckle bit o’ bush about yon lagoon. If 
we fired a gun every Indian for miles would ken 
we’re here. Come along, Fred, they may be 
speilin’ at us now !” 

Rob’s discovery had shaken the nerves of both 
boys, and hurrying to the canoe, they pushed off 
from the bank and sped swiftly down the river. 
Once in the lagoon, they overcame their fears, and 
selecting a promising-looking creek, paddled up 
the waterway among the mangroves. For some 
distance they saw nothing but herons, ibis and 
other worthless birds; but soon the channel nar- 
rowed, the banks became dryer and the boys de- 
cided to land and hunt among the trees. 

“I suppose this must be an island,” remarked 
Fred, as they tied the canoe and stepped ashore. 
“Hello, here are tracks of some animal!” 

Cautiously advancing over the soft earth, the 


58 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

two followed the well-marked tracks and had gone 
but a short distance when, with a queer, coughing 
squeal a large brown creature jumped up and tore 
madly off between the trees. Both boys fired and 
hurried forward to see if they had brought down 
the animal and found it quite dead a score of 
yards away. It was a short-legged creature with a 
large head and with coarse brown hair covered 
with white spots. “It’s a conejo,” declared Fred., 
“A paca, you know. Don’t you remember we 
killed some over in Panama?” 

“An’ fine tasting they were, too,” added Rob. 
“Maybe we can find another.” 

But a diligent search failed to reveal another 
paca and the boys had given up and were retracing 
their way to the canoe, when seeds dropping from 
a tree caused them to stop and look up and, a min- 
ute later, a fine curassow or wild turkey was added 
to their bag. 

“I guess we’ve enough for today,” remarked 
Fred, as they reached the cayuca. “Let’s fish 
awhile.” 

This met with Rob’s approval and for the next 
hour or two the boys fished with excellent results. 

“Man, but I’m fair famished !” declared Rob, at 
last. “Let’s sample some of these fish before we 
start back, Fred.” 

Building a little fire of dry twigs and branches, 
the boys broiled several fish over the coals and. 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 


59 


having partially satisfied their appetites, started 
for the lagoon and the schooner. 

They had almost reached the mouth of the creek 
when Rob uttered a cry of warning and surprise, 
and the next instant a high wave came rushing up 
the waterway, lifting and tossing the light canoe 
and washing over the low, muddy banks. “What 

on ” commenced Fred, but before the sentence 

was finished a second wave rolled in from the la- 
goon, to be followed by a third and fourth, each 
smaller than the one preceding it. When the last 
had passed the two boys gazed at one another in 
silence, too amazed and puzzled to speak. Rob 
was the first to find his voice. “Hoot, laddie!” 
he cried. “Did ye ever see anything like yon? 
Was it a tidal-wave, do you think?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Fred. “It felt 
just like the wake of a steamer; but of course there 
are no steamers here. I give it up. We’ll have to 
ask Mr. Grayson about it.” 

Without further incident the boys reached the 
little lagoon and were surprised to see the schooner 
heeled far over to one side, with a large part of 
her weed-covered bottom exposed, while several 
men were busily working at the planking. 

“Why, she’s tipped over!” exclaimed Fred. 

“Aye, but tipped on purpose,” replied Rob. 
“Don’t you see her masts are tied down to yon 
trees ?” 


6o THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


“So they are,” agreed the other. “They must 
have careened her, as Mr. Grayson called it. It 
must have been easier than they expected.” 

“Everything is going finely,” declared Mr. Wil- 
son, as the boys landed on the beach. “After we 
removed the ballast the leaks decreased and we 
pumped her out and careened her and the men have 
caulked several of the worst leaks already. Some 
of the planks are crushed and must be replaced, 
however, and that takes time.” 

“But not so long as if we had to cut trees and 
get out new timber,” added Mr. Grayson. “We 
can rip some planks from the hatch-covers and use 
them and cover the hatches with canvas. What 
luck today, boys ?” 

“We killed a cone jo and a wild turkey and 
caught some fish,” replied Fred. 

“And saw a sea-cow,” added Rob. 

“Fine!” ejaculated the scientist “We’ll have a 
regular dinner tonight. Did you reach the main- 
land?” 

The boys then told of finding the trail and re- 
lated the incident of the waves. 

“I don’t imagine there was any danger,” de- 
clared Mr. Grayson. “Very likely it’s an old trail 
or is used by Indians going from the coast into 
the interior. They wouldn’t be likely to live near 
the lagoon ; but I think you were wise in taking no 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 


61 


chances. Stray savages might have been within 
hearing of a gunshot.” 

“But what made those waves?” persisted Fred. 
“That frightened me a lot more than finding the 
trail.” 

“Tide, probably,” replied Mr. Grayson. “You 
say there was a stiff wind this morning and the 
lagoon was rough. If the wind blew the water 
out with the tide it might have come back with a 
rush when the tide turned. Sort of a ‘bore,’ as it’s 
called.” 

“More likely an alligator or a sea-cow diving 
off the banks,” said Mr. Wilson, trying to tease the 
boys. “You were so nervous over the trail that 
you imagined the size of the waves. A good big 
’gator makes quite a splash, you know.” 

“Oh, you can’t jolly us,” declared Fred. “I tell 
you those waves were as big as if made by a 
steamship; weren’t they, Rob?” 

“Aye, the canoe fair stood on end with the first,” 
agreed Rob. 

“Even a small wave will pile up when it enters 
a narrow channel,” commented Mr. Grayson. “The 
tide is the only way I can account for it.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” said Fred, and as din- 
ner was now ready, the subject was forgotten. 

The following day the boys found the lagoon 
smooth and unruffled by wind and Fred suggested 


62 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


that they should cross over and explore the oppo- 
site shores. 

‘‘I vote we go over to that sandy point at the 
entrance to the bay/’ said Rob. “There are coco- 
nuts there and we could take some along for lunch 
and bring a lot back to the schooner.” 

‘That’s a good scheme,” declared Fred. “Be- 
sides, we might find game there, or some turtle 
eggs.” 

Heading across the lagoon, the boys made for 
the sand-spit, with its waving palms, and half an 
hour later, drew the canoe upon the beach. By 
the water’s edge was a narrow belt of thorny scrub 
and sea-grape trees ; but away from this, the entire 
neck of land was covered with a veritable forest of 
palms, whose ripened nuts strewed the ground. 
At the boys’ approach, thousands of giant land 
crabs scuttled into their holes; huge lizards dashed 
out of sight among the fallen leaves and trash and 
scores of pelicans rose, flapping from their im- 
mense nests among the brush. It was a strange 
place and the boys found much to interest them. 
They roared with laughter at the funny, ungainly 
baby pelicans ; they caught land crabs and made 
them race on the sand ; they climbed the trees and 
gathered a great pile of green “water-coconuts,” 
and they wandered up and down the beach, picking 
up bright-colored sea shells and searching for tur- 
tle eggs. But there were no signs of either tur- 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 63 

ties or game and at last the two tired of the nov- 
elty of the spot. 

‘There’s nothing here,” said Fred. “Let’s cross 
over to that rocky point across the entrance of the 
lagoon. That’s dry land with hills and has jungle 
and we might find something to shoot.” 

Gathering their supply of nuts, the boys pad- 
died across the neck of the lagoon and landed in a 
tiny cove on the rocky shore. Here, close to the 
water, the jungle was very dense and the boys had 
difficulty in forcing a way through, even with the 
aid of their machetes; but a few rods inland, the 
woods were more open and they proceeded cau- 
tiously in the hope of sighting game. For an hour 
or more they wandered about and were beginning 
to think their quest hopeless, when a deer jumped 
up almost at Rob’s feet. At the report of his gun 
the deer fell, but instantly was up and off again. 

“You hit him!” cried Fred. “We may get him 
yet!” and hurrying forward, the boys followed 
after the deer, guided by the drops of blood upon 
the ground. 

They had traveled perhaps half a mile when 
Rob, who was leading, gave a cry of surprise. 
“Here’s a cave!” he exclaimed. 

Fred hurried to his side. “That’s so,” he 
agreed. “Let’s look into it.” 

Before them was a steep-sided, rocky hill, cov- 
ered with low bush and with a large opening near 


64 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

its base. Clambering over the fallen rocks, the 
boys peered into the cavern. “The deer’s gone in 
here, too,” announced Rob, and pointing to blood 
spots on the bits of limestone. 

“It’s light inside,” declared Fred. “Let’s ex- 
plore it.” 

Stooping, the boys entered and found that, just 
within, the cave widened out and that the roof was 
many feet above their heads. A slight noise caused 
them to start and they turned just in time to see 
the wounded deer spring from its resting place 
beside a mass of rock. Without thinking, Fred 
fired and both boys were almost stunned by the 
thunderous reverberations of the report, while bits 
of stone came rattling from the lofty roof and the 
air was filled with countless thousands of bats, 
startled from their roosting places. 

“Whew!” exclaimed Fred. “That did give me 
a fright. I was a fool to fire a gun in here; it 
might have brought the whole cave down and 
locked us up in here forever.” 

“Well, you killed the deer, at any rate,” re- 
marked Rob. 

“Now we’ve got him, let’s explore the cave,” sug- 
gested Fred, after the boys had inspected the dead 
deer. 

“There’s a passage yonder,” declared Rob, and 
both boys picked their way over the fallen masses 



THE AIR WAS FILLED WITH BATS, STARTLED FROM 
THEIR ROOSTING PLACES 

65 




s 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 67 

of rocks and stalactites towards the arched open- 
ing Rob had spied. 

It was not dark and this at first puzzled the boys 
until, in turning a sharp corner, they saw an open- 
ing ahead and sharply outlined against the bril- 
liant sunshine and blue sky. 

Hurrying forward, the two came to the end of 
the tunnel-like passage and peered out. 

“Why, we’re right on the seashore!” cried Fred 
in surprise. 

“That’s so,” agreed his companion, “and we’re 
outside the lagoon! See, there are the islands off 
there!” 

“It’ll save us a lot of trouble,” commented Fred. 
“We can bring the cayuca around here and save 
carrying that deer clear back through the bush.” 

The opening where the boys stood was several 
feet above the narrow strip of beach and looked 
forth upon a broad expanse of glistening blue sea, 
with the two conical islands at the entrance to the 
lagoon scarce half a mile distant. As they sat en- 
joying the cool sweep of the Trade Wind, and gaz- 
ing at the wooded islands, before returning for 
their canoe, Rob had an idea. 

“I say, Fred!” he exclaimed, “what do you say 
to going out and exploring yon islands?” 

“Bully!” cried Fred. “The sea’s perfectly calm 
and we’ll have to bring the cayuca around for the 
deer and it won’t take any time to paddle over 


68 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

there. Come on, Rob, let’s go and get the canoe !” 

Following along the shore, the boys soon reached 
the rocky point that marked the entrance to the 
lagoon, and clambering over hills, came to the lit- 
tle cove where they had left the cayuca. 

“That’s a lot easier than tramping all the way 
through the bush,” remarked Fred, as they stepped 
into the little craft and seized their paddles. 

Rob chuckled, “Aye, an’ if you didn’t heed 
where we were ganging after yon deer, we’d have 
had a muckle hard time findin’ our way back.” 

“Oh, we could always have found the shore and 
gone back,” declared the other, confidently. 

Passing into the entrance to the lagoon, the ca- 
noe was headed for the island and, a few minutes 
later, the boys stepped ashore and hauled their ca- 
yuca upon a shelving rock among some bushes. 

“I’ll bet we’re the first people ever to land here,” 
declared Fred, as the two pushed their way through 
the dense tangle of long grass and bushes towards 
the slope of the hill. 

“Hello !” he exclaimed, a moment later. “Here’s 
another cave!” 

Sure enough, in the base of the hill was a large 
opening and the boys, peering within, found that it 
was quite light and that the floor was covered deep 
with sea shells. 

“I’d like to know how all those shells came here,” 
said Fred. “I suppose someone must have brought 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 69 

them here. But they must have been mighty hun- 
gry, or else they lived here a long time to have 
eaten all those shells. Why, there are tons of 
them I” 

Rob stooped and picked up some of the shells. 
“Hoot, mon!” he exclaimed. “Nobody brought 
these here. They’re fossil shells, Fred, and there’s 
coral among them. I ken how they came here, lad- 
die; this cave was under the sea sometime and 
the wee bit o’ land’s been raised. I mind Profes- 
sor Abbott telling us about the same thing happen- 
ing to the Isthmus the time we found yon shells 
in Culebra Cut.” 

“Yes, I guess you’re right,” agreed Fred. “But 
where does all the light come from. There isn’t 
any other opening that I can see.” 

“Look aloft, lad,” laughed Rob. “There’s a sky- 
light in this cave.” 

“Gosh, so there is!” exclaimed Fred, and both 
boys craned their necks and gazed upward to the 
roof of the cavern where, many feet above their 
heads, a ragged, narrow opening showed a patch 
of dazzling blue sky. 

“Say, that must be right up at the top of the 
hill!” said Fred. “We’ll climb up outside and look 
down. Come on, Rob. There isn’t anything more 
to be seen here !” 

Leaving the cave, the boys started to push and 
cut their way through the brush on their climb up 


70 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

the steep hillside and had gone but a few yards 
when Fred gave a shout. “Here’s a sort of 
path!” he cried. “Somebody has been here after 
all!” 

The path which Fred had found was merely an 
indistinct trail where the brush had been cut away, 
and it led diagonally up the hillside. 

“And not long ago,” said Rob. “Some of these 
bushes haven’t been cut but a few days.” 

“Well, there can’t be Indians here, anyway,” 
replied Fred, “and I don’t see where anybody 
could hide except in the cave.” 

It was not a hard climb to the top of the hill, 
but there was no shade and the boys were glad 
when, at last, they reached the summit and seated 
themselves where they were partly sheltered from 
the sun by a clump of rather tall bushes. From 
this spot they could look out across the lagoon, 
with its numerous winding waterways and dark 
green mangrove swamps, to the distant mainland 
reaching inland to the blue mountains half-hidden 
by drifting clouds. 

“Look, there’s the schooner!” cried Fred. “See, 
right over to the left! You can just see a bit of 
her beyond the trees there.” 

“That’s so,” replied Rob. “Isn’t it a fine view? 
See, there’s the mouth of the river and, — Hello! 
do you see that, Fred? Do you see yon? Mon, 
mon, there’s a house!” 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 


7i 

“Gosh!” exclaimed Fred, as he gazed fixedly at 
the spot Rob indicated. ‘There is a building there ! 
I can see its roof.” 

“Aye, and ’tis no Indian hut, either,” declared 
Rob. “Yon house has an iron roof, Fred.” 

“That must be where the trail went to!” cried 
Fred. ‘Til bet, — Golly! Rob, am I dreaming? 
Aren’t those masts over there to the right of the 
roof?” 

Rob stared for a moment without replying. 
“Hoot, laddie !” he exclaimed at last. “ Tis masts 
ye see richt enough, Fred; but I misdoubt they’re 
on a ship. Do ye no think they’re muckle like 
wireless masts, lad?” 

“Wireless!” ejaculated Fred. “I never thought 
of that! Perhaps there’s a Hun base over there! 
Say, we must hurry back and tell the others about 
this!” 

“Nay, they’re no wireless,” announced the other, 
who had been watching the mysterious objects pro- 
jecting above a clump of dense mangroves far 
across the lagoon. “ Tis a ship in there, Fred ! I 
can see the cross-trees and topmasts! Look close 
and ye’ll see!” 

“Yes, I can see now,” declared Fred. “And I 
can make out the shrouds, I think. But we’d best 
hurry back and tell the others anyhow. If there’s 
a house and a boat there we might get help to fix 


72 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

up the schooner. Gee ! I thought sure we’d found 
a Hun base !” 

Rising, the boys started across the summit of 
the hill, when Rob halted. “We haven’t looked 
down yon skylight, yet,” he said. “It won’t take 
but a minute, and that’s what we climbed up here 
for.” 

A few minutes’ search revealed the opening they 
had seen from below, — a cleft in the limestone 
rock and many times larger than the boys had 
expected it to be. Cautiously approaching the edge 
of the opening on all fours, and testing each bit 
of rock before they put their weight on it, the boys 
reached the edge of the aperture and looked down. 

“Why, that’s not the cave we were in!” cried 
Fred. “There’s nothing but water down there.” 

“Aye,” replied Rob. “So I see; but look over 
to the left, Fred. There’s our cave. Do ye no see 
how ’tis ? There are two caves below, lad, one dry 
and the other full o’ water and separated by a bit 
o’ wall, with the same skylight for the two.” 

“Yes, that’s it,” agreed Fred. “Hello, what’s 
this!” As he spoke, Fred grasped a slender root- 
like object that led over the verge of the opening 
and disappeared down the shaft. 

“Of all things!” he continued. “It’s a wire! 
Look here, Rob!” 

Rob examined the object and gave a whistle of 
surprise. “ ’Tis just that,” he announced. “An’ 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 


73 

leadin’ down into yon cave! Let’s follow alang 
here and see what’s at the ither end of it.” 

Creeping back from the hole, the two boys fol- 
lowed the strand of wire and found it led to a 
near-by bush, where it was made secure. 

“This is mysterious,” said Fred, as the two 
stood looking with puzzled faces at the wire. 
“Someone must have put it there; but I don’t see 
what for. Let’s pull it up from the cave. Per- 
haps it’s got something fastened on the other end.” 

As they turned to go back to the opening, Rob 
looked seaward, and the next instant grasped his 
companion’s arm and gave an exclamation of sur- 
prise. “Hoot, mon !” he cried. “There’s a whale ; 
my but he is a muckle monster!” 

From where the boys stood upon the pinnacle 
of the island the water far below appeared as 
transparent as glass and the outline of rocks upon 
the bottom, the dark patches of sea-weed, the bril- 
liant orange and yellow of corals and the areas of 
snowy sand were all plainly visible. And now, 
as at Rob’s cry Fred turned and looked downward, 
he could see a huge, dark shape moving rapidly 
through the water far beneath the surface and 
clearly outlined against the bottom of the sea. 

For an instant he looked and then, with a yell, 
leaped back among the bushes. “Whale!” he criedi 
in excited tones. “Whale ! That’s no whale ; it’s 
a submarine !” 


74 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

Rob, too surprised and dum founded even to re- 
ply, could merely ejaculate, “Hoot!” over and over 
again as the two boys peered with wondering eyes 
at the strange object which was now plainly recog- 
nizable as an undersea boat and which was rapidly 
approaching the island. 

“It’s headed straight for here,” declared Fred 
at last. “I wonder if they’re going to land ? Per- 
haps they’ve seen us and are going to capture us.” 

“Maybe ’tis yon American submarine,” sug- 
gested Rob. 

“No, it’s not,” declared Fred, positively. “She’s 
different. I’ll bet she’s a Hun !” 

“Weel, if she keeps agangin’ as she is now she’ll 
bump her nose ’gainst the rocks,” said Rob. “Do 
they no’ ken they canna’ ram a bit o’ island like 
this?” 

“I do believe she will!” cried Fred. “Look, 
Rob, she’s within a dozen yards of the rocks now ! 
Why, why. Gosh ! She’s going to strike ! Look, 
Rob, look, there she goes! She’s — Gosh!” Then 
words failed him and he gazed with mouth agape 
at the sea beneath, for the submarine, instead of 
crumpling up as it reached the rocks, had vanished 
utterly as if by magic. 

For an instant Rob also stared downward and 
then, leaping to his feet, he dashed to the opening 
in the hilltop and crawled forward and looked 
down. Close at his heels came Fred and as the 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 


75 


two stared at the water-filled cavern far beneath, 
a huge, black shape seemed to evolve from no- 
where and came to rest on the surface of the mir- 
ror-like water that filled the cave. 

“The submarine !” exclaimed Fred in awestruck 
tones. “How did she get there ?” 

“Hist !” cautioned Rob. “Dinna ye understand ? 
Yon cave has an entrance under the sea, laddie, 
an' the ‘sub’ just sailed in! ’Tis a bonny spot to 
hide in. Look out!” 

As Rob spoke he drew quickly back and Fred 
did the same, for a hatchway in the mysterious 
craft had opened and a man had emerged. He 
was quickly followed by a sailor who, with a boat- 
hook, reached toward the rocky wall and drew a 
rope-ladder forward. Mounting this, the first man 
climbed rapidly to a narrow shelf of rock and, 
reaching down, picked up a small object which he 
tossed to the sailor. “The wire !” exclaimed Fred 
in a whisper, as the mysterious wire beside the 
boys shook slightly. 

“He’s coming up here,” continued Fred. “See, 
he’s crawled into a hole! There must be another 
entrance to that cave on land. What will we do ?” 

“Hide,” replied Rob, laconically. “There’s 
plenty of bush we can crawl into.” 

Scurrying across the hilltop, the two boys 
wormed their way into the dense thicket and, com- 
pletely screened from view, lay quietly and intently 


76 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

watching the approach to the summit. Presently 
there was the sound of rattling pebbles, the heavy 
footsteps of someone approaching and the next 
moment a man appeared and, seating himself upon 
a bit of rock, mopped his scarlet, perspiring face 
with a huge handkerchief. Even without his as- 
sociation with the submarine, the boys would have 
known him for a Hun, for he was unmistakably 
German from his heavy, short boots to his officer’s 
cap. His face, coarse and almost purple from sun- 
burn and the exertion of the climb, was heavy- 
jowled and disfigured by a great livid scar across 
the cheek, and his short, bristling mustache was 
turned sharply upwards at the end, in a feeble at- 
tempt at imitating that of the Kaiser, while his 
thick bull-neck joined his bullet-shaped head in 
rolls of fat which flowed over the back of his col- 
lar. Presently he rose, made his way to the spot 
where the wire was fastened to the bush, and bend- 
ing over, attached a field telephone to it. Then, 
mounting upon a piece of rock, he unrolled two sig- 
nal flags and commenced to wig-wag some mes- 
sage towards the lagoon. 

“He’s signaling that house we saw,” whispered 
Fred. “Can you see it from where you are?” 

Rob twisted his head about. “Aye,” he replied 
in a whisper. “I can just make it out. Hoot, mon, 
’tis not yon house he’s signaling; ’tis the boat we 
saw ! There goes a signal on yon masts !” 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 


77 

As soon as the German saw his signals answered 
he commenced speaking into the telephone and, af- 
ter a few more signals with his flags, he rolled 
them up, detached the instrument, again tied the 
wire to the bush and ponderously descended the 
pathway. 

“I told you that was a Hun base!” exclaimed 
Fred, triumphantly. “Now we are going to have 
an adventure. We’ll wait till that sub’s gone and 
then build three smoky fires here and call the 
destroyer and then we’ll hurry in for all we’re 
worth and tell our people.” 

“Aye, and have yon Huns see the smoke and 
catch us,” replied Rob. “Do ye no ken this hill’s 
their signal station and they’ll be veery watchful 
of it. An’ do ye think they’re blind, lad? Hoot, 
mon! They know our schooner’s yonder as well 
as we do and they’re just waiting for us to leave, 
a-trustin’ we won’t know they’re here. Do ye 
think they’d be sich boobies as to let us gang awa’, 
an’ they kenned we’d seen aught o’ them fra here?” 

“I suppose that’s so,” admitted Fred, regret- 
fully. “But we can tell our folks, anyway. Do 
you suppose the submarine has gone yet?” 

“We’ll have a look,” replied Rob, and creeping 
cautiously to the opening they peered into the cave. 
But there was no sign of the submarine and the 
boys turned and gazed across the sea towards the 
lagoon. 


78 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“There she goes!” exclaimed Fred, and pointed 
to a slender streak of white moving swiftly through 
the entrance to the lagoon. “She’s going in. Oh, 
look ! See those waves breaking on the sand-spit ? 
That’s what made that swell that puzzled us. 
Won’t Mr. Grayson be surprised? I said ’twas 
just like the wash from a steamer.” 

Hurrying down the steep pathway, the boys 
reached their cayuca and, forgetting all about their 
deer in the cave ashore, paddled madly towards 
the entrance to the lagoon. 

They had passed the rocky point and were skirt- 
ing the shores when they were startled by the sound 
of distant gunshots. “What’s that?” exclaimed 
Fred. “It sounds like a fight !” 

“Maybe someone hunting,” replied Rob. 
“But, ” 

At this instant there was the sound of a heavy, 
muffled explosion, and both boys stopped paddling 
and sat motionless, staring at one another. 

“Golly!” exclaimed Fred. “I’ll bet their old 
submarine has blown up !” 

“So much the better,” declared Rob. “Come 
on, Fred, let’s hurry up and get to the schooner. 
If our people heard that they’ll be fair daffy to 
know what ’tis.” 

Skirting the shores, for the Doys were too ner- 
vous and too wise to cross the open lagoon in plain 
view, the canoe was sped as rapidly as possible to- 


MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERIES 


79 


wards the waterway leading to the schooner and, 
half an hour later, the cayuca shot from the chan- 
nel into the small lagoon. 

And then, at their first glance towards the beach, 
the two cried out in unison and, dropping their 
paddles, sat staring dumbly shoreward. Upon the 
beach, where the tent and supplies had stood, was 
a smoldering pile of ashes; not a living soul was 
in sight and the schooner had disappeared ! 



(IB Chapter \S 



Prisoners 


F OR several hours after the boys left their 
friends and the schooner everything went 
well and the work progressed rapidly. 
All the leaks which could be reached on 
one side had been caulked and, by noon, 
the vessel had been turned around, careened 
on the opposite side and all was ready for 
continuing the work. Everyone was elated at the 
rapid progress which had been made and Mr. 
Wilson suggested that they had all best have lunch 
and rest before commencing to caulk the leaks on 
the side of the schooner now exposed. 

“No use in overdoing,” he declared. “We’ve all 
worked like beavers and at this rate we’ll be ready 
to start in a couple of days.” 

“Yes, we’ve done finely,” agreed Mr. Grayson. 
8q 


PRISONERS 


81 


“And the men have earned a good rest and siesta. 
They’ll work all the better for it this afternoon.” 
Calling to the captain, he told him to notify the 
men that they could quit and could rest for three 
hours, as they had done so well. 

The men were highly pleased and all gathered 
in the shade ashore and were soon busy with their 
mid-day meal. 

‘Tm thankful those boys have had good luck 
so far,” commented Mr. Grayson, as he picked a 
wild turkey bone. “This fresh meat has been a 
godsend. I don’t know what we should have done 
without it.” 

“Right you are!” agreed Mr. Wilson. “I won- 
der where they went today ? I haven’t heard them 
shoot yet and they’ve been gone nearly five hours. 
I hope they don’t get into trouble.” 

“Well, if they do you can be sure they’ll get out 
again,” laughed the scientist. “I never saw such 
a pair for running into tight places and squeezing 

through all right. Did I ever tell you about, ” 

What he was about to relate Mr. Wilson never 
knew, for at that instant the scientist’s words were 
cut short by the sharp report of a rifle and the ag- 
onized screams of the captain, who sat beside Mr. 
Wilson. As the captain pitched forward and his 
tin cup and plate clattered to the ground, the first 
shot was followed by a scattering volley and in- 
stantly all was confusion. The men, panic-stricken 


82 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

at the unexpected attack and the death of their 
captain, screamed in terror and those unhurt 
dashed madly towards the boat. But none 
reached it alive and the narrow beach was strewn 
with dead or wounded men. At the first shot, 
Mr. Grayson had thrown himself face downward 
behind the spar on which he had been seated and 
Mr. Wilson had flung himself backward in the 
same shelter. 

“The dirty murderers !” exclaimed Mr. Wilson, 
as he saw the men being shot down. “Are they 
Indians, Grayson?” 

“I don’t know,” muttered the scientist, as a bul- 
let tore a splinter from the spar an inch from his 
head. “But I guess there’s more truth than we 
thought in that Hun story. It looks like ” 

“Hants oop, you swine!” a rough voice inter- 
rupted. 

Extending their hands above their heads, the 
two men rose to see a burly German standing over 
them with a pair of ugly automatics pointed at 
their heads. Back of him stood two armed sail- 
ors, while forming a cordon around the little camp 
and its dead and wounded occupants, were a dozen 
more Germans, with threatening, leveled rifles. 

“So-o!” hissed the German officer, as Mr. Wil- 
son and the scientist rose and faced him. “You 
tink you comes here mitt der poat an’ ve dondt 


PRISONERS 83 

know it, eh? Gott, vy I dondt kill you I dondt 
know !” 

“It’s because you’re too cowardly!” cried Mr. 
Grayson, his indignation overcoming his discre- 
tion. “You can shoot down helpless natives, but 
you haven’t the nerve to kill a white man.” 

With a vile German oath, the officer swung his 
automatic and struck viciously at the scientist’s 
head; but at the same instant, Mr. Wilson’s fist 
shot out and, catching the officer on the point of 
his chin, sent him sprawling backwards. 

He arose spluttering and cursing, his face pur- 
ple with passion, and both men expected to be shot 
down without mercy, and clasped hands in a last 
farewell. But while the German leveled his pis- 
tols and cursed volubly in his native tongue, he re- 
frained from shooting and, summoning some of 
his sailors, ordered the two Americans bound. 
Then, as the men seized their prisoners, the officer 
strode off and approaching the dead and wounded 
natives, brutally kicked them. Those who re- 
sponded with a movement or groan he promptly 
killed by placing his pistol to their ears. Then, 
having murdered the last poor wretch, he issued 
a sharp order and half a dozen sailors advanced 
down the beach and, shoving off the schooner’s 
boat, clambered in and rowed to the careened ves- 
sel. With boiling blood, but bound and helpless 


84 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

to interfere, the two Americans witnessed the 
butchery of the wounded sailors. 

“I can’t understand why he didn’t kill us!” ex- 
claimed Mr. Grayson. “We certainly gave him 
provocation enough. Jove, what beasts these Huns 
are !” 

“Thank God the boys were not here!” cried 
Mr. Wilson fervently. “I wonder where they are ? 
Heaven alone knows what this brute will do with 
us or what the boys will think when they return. 
I’m nearly mad thinking of it, Grayson ; but they’re 
better off alone in the bush than as prisoners of the 
Germans.” 

“We’ll have to hope for the best, old friend,” 
replied the scientist. “The boys can’t starve and 
they’ll know we’ve been attacked by somebody and 
I’ll bet they have sense enough to signal for the 
destroyer. Even if they don’t sight her, they’ll 
manage to attract some vessel.” 

“But they may search for us and be captured, 
too.” 

“Even so, I doubt if they’d be injured,” declared 
Mr. Grayson. “There must be a reason for not 
killing us and the same would save the boys’ lives. 
By Jove, Wilson, they’re blowing up the 
schooner !” 

The scientist’s ejaculation was caused by the 
sight of the sailors hastily deserting the schooner 
while, trailing over her rail, was a sputtering fuse. 


PRISONERS 


85 

As the men reached the shore they darted for 
cover back of the trees, leaving the two Americans, 
bound and unable to move, to take their chances 
of being maimed or killed by flying timbers. 

“Quick!” cried Mr. Grayson, as he realized the 
predicament they were in, “tumble over and roll 
close to the spar and bury your face in the sand! 
It’s our only chance ! I expect that damnable Hun 
thought he’d enjoy a bit of sport leaving us here.” 

Scarcely had the two captives rolled and 
squirmed their way to the partial protection of the 
big spar, when there was a heavy, dull explosion; 
a column of sand, water and splintered timbers 
rose high in air and, an instant later, splinters, 
planks and twisted iron work rained about the 
two Americans. Several heavy pieces struck within 
a few feet of them and one big section of keel actu- 
ally crashed upon the spar which protected them, 
but, save for a few minor bruises and cuts, the 
two escaped unhurt. 

As they raised their heads and gazed at the spot 
where the schooner had been, they saw naught but 
water, for, with the exception of a few pieces of 
floating planks, not a vestige of the schooner re- 
mained. 

Approaching the two Americans, the German 
officer, apparently greatly chagrined to find they 
were alive and practically unwounded, ordered 
them to rise. Unmindful of the fact that this was 


86 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

impossible, with feet and hands tied, he admin- 
istered several hearty kicks and, calling a couple 
of his men, the captives were jerked roughly to 
their feet. In the meantime the other sailors had 
been rummaging through the little camp and, hav- 
ing collected all the stores of value, set fire to 
the rest. 

The ropes were then removed from the Ameri- 
cans’ legs and, closely guarded, they were marched 
into the bush. Less than half a mile had been 
traversed when the party emerged from the for- 
est on a second beach where, drawn upon the sand 
and guarded by two sailors, was a gray naval cut- 
ter. 

Without any delay the prisoners were ordered 
into the boat, the craft was shoved off and, pro- 
pelled by a powerful motor, the cutter dashed 
across the narrow space of open water and slipped 
into a channel among the mangroves. 

Twisting and turning, doubling on their tracks, 
and at times speeding across broad lagoons, the 
craft continued on its way until the two Amer- 
icans were hopelessly confused and could not have 
found their way back had they been given the 
opportunity. 

At last, the boat emerged from the mangroves 
and the Americans were amazed to see a large 
schooner-yacht anchored in the open water ahead. 
The cutter was run alongside the vessel and the 


PRISONERS 


87 

two prisoners were dragged onto her decks and 
roughly thrown down a companionway and th^ 
hatch dosed after them. But in the brief moment 
during which they were on deck the scientist’s 
quick eye had glimpsed a strange and surprising 
object lying close to the yacht on the opposite side 
from which they had arrived. ‘‘Did you see that, 
Wilson?” exclaimed Mr. Grayson as he picked 
himself up from the cabin floor. 

“What do you mean ?” queried the other as he 
rubbed his shins. “I know I saw stars as I struck 
this floor! These brutes must have adopted our 
army slogan of ‘treat ’em rough’.” 

“I meant what was alongside,” replied Mr. 
Grayson. “It’s a U-boat!” 

“By Jove!” ejaculated Mr. Wilson. “Then this 
is a Hun-base!” 

“Surest thing you know!” laughed the scien- 
tist. “Did you think they were missionaries?” 

For several hours they lay in the dark cabin, 
apparently forgotten, until, at last, a couple of 
sailors entered and proceeded to blindfold the cap- 
tives who were then dragged on deck and tossed 
into a boat. 

By the sound of the oars the two men realized 
that they were no longer in the cutter and an oc- 
casional overhanging bough, brushing against the 
boat, apprised them of the fact that they were 
being rowed along a narrow waterway. 


88 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

Less than half an hour from the time they had 
left the yacht the boat bumped into the shore and 
the Americans were hauled out and found them- 
selves on dry land. But where they were or what 
sort of country was about them was impossible 
to tell. Seizing them by their pinioned arms the 
sailors urged them forward and by the constant 
whipping and scratching of branches and thorns 
they knew they were treading a narrow, winding 
trail. 

Presently a sharp challenge in German rang 
out and was answered by their captors; a short 
conference ensued and, a moment later, the band- 
ages were removed from their eyes. 

They were standing in a small clearing enclosed 
by a stockade of heavy logs and surrounded on 
every side with dense jungle. In the center, and 
mounted on a stout, rough-hewn platform a little 
higher than the stockade, was a rapid-fire gun and 
behind this was a low wooden building roofed 
with corrugated iron. A few yards to one side 
was a pen-like enclosure of logs, bound and topped 
with barbed wire and with its only opening guard- 
ed by armed men. 

Towards this the prisoners were hustled and 
they had barely time to note the surroundings, 
and to see that at least a dozen Germans were 
patroling the place, when they were thrust into 


PRISONERS 89 

the corral, and with a parting kick from their 
guards were thrown to the rough ground. 

As they struggled to rise and spat the dirt from 
their mouths they noticed, for the first time, that 
they were not the only occupants of the prison- 
pen. 

Squatting in the meager shade afforded by the 
log wall were four disconsolate-looking men, their 
garments torn and soiled, their faces streaked with 
dried blood and all showing signs of very rough 
handling. But despite their condition, it could 
easily be seen that all were sailors and all Anglo- 
Saxons. 

“Well, we’ve companions in misery, I see,” re- 
marked the scientist cheerfully, and walking to the 
nearest of the sailors he turned his back. “Will 
you untie this confounded rope?” he asked. 

The man rose quickly. “Sure!” he exclaimed. 
“Say, mate, what ship has them blarsted Huns 
sunk now?” 

Another sailor busied himself with the ropes 
that bound Mr. Wilson’s arms and all gathered 
about as the new arrivals briefly related their 
story to the accompaniment of muttered curses 
and threats from the other prisoners. 

“Now let’s hear where you boys came from,” 
suggested Mr. Wilson when their tale was ended. 

“We’re all offen the Swanee” replied a raw- 


go THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

boned, tow-headed Yankee who evidently was the 
leader of the crew. “Say, you ain’t got a chaw o’ 
baccy on you, have you?” 

Mr. Grayson drew forth his tobacco pouch and 
handed it to the fellow. “Help yourselves,” he 
said, “but leave enough for a pipe for me.” 

Each of the sailors helped himself gingerly to 
a pinch of the tobacco and then, as the four pairs 
of jaws were working industriously, all seated 
themselves and the spokesman resumed his story. 

“Tramp o’ seven thousand tons, out o’ Galves- 
ton for La Guaira, Saunders master,” he con- 
tinued. “Sighted the all-fired, dirty Hun ’bout 
forty miles often the coast. Didn’t give us no 
warnin’, but jest let drive a torpeder first thing. 
Struck jest abaft the bridge and pretty near blew 
us clean outten the sea. Capt’n killed and no 
chance fer the engine-room gang. Us boys, — we 
was all standin’ aft, — just flopped overboard and 
swum fer it. There wasn’t no wreckage to cling to 
and we jest swum about, waitin’ ter drown, when 
the Hun bobs up and orders us aboard. When we 
dumb aboard an officer stood there an’ knocked 
us flat one after t’other an’ had us tied up same 
as you gents. Then the dirty skunks brung us 
here three days back. Why the blazes they didn’t 
kill us I don’t know. Reckon they might as well, 
we ain’t had nothin’ but rotten dried bull an’ 
water sence we come.” 


PRISONERS 


“You have had tough luck,” declared Mr. Gray- 
son, “but I can’t see why they spared you and 
ourselves. It would have been easier to have no 
one to bother with.” 

“Perhaps they think it will go easier with them 
if they are caught,” suggested Mr. Wilson. 

“Did anyone ever know of a Hun having enough 
common sense to think such a thing?” replied the 
scientist. “No, I imagine they’re keeping us to 
do some work. I do wonder where those boys 
are !” 

Mr. Wilson sighed. “God grant they’re safe !” 
he exclaimed. 

For several hours the little cluster of prisoners 
squatted in the only shade and strove to find some 
comfort in relating stories of their experiences 
and discussing their probable future. Just before 
sundown two men entered the enclosure, one 
armed, the other bearing a trencher and a bucket 
and these he placed on the ground before the 
prisoners. 

Black, rubber-like dried beef and water were 
the sole contents of the utensils and Mr. Grayson 
and Mr. Wilson were quite willing to leave their 
shares to the sailors. 

By the time the apology for a meal was ended 
it was quite dark and the men threw themselves 
dispiritedly upon a pile of dried palm leaves which 
was the only bedding provided. 


92 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

The sailors, accustomed to a rough life and 
rougher accommodations, soon dropped off to 
sleep, but Mr. Wilson and Mr. Grayson remained 
awake, the one worrying over the fate of the two 
boys and the other racking his brains in trying to 
devise some means of escaping. 

The night was very still; only the chirp of in- 
sects, the distant croaks of frogs and the snores 
of the sailors breaking the silence, while ever and 
anon, the tread of a sentry could be heard as he 
paced back and forth at his post. 

Suddenly several rifle shots rang through the 
night and, a moment later, the air reverberated to 
the sound of a distant, muffled explosion and the 
sailors awoke with a start while sharp cries issued 
from the stockade and lights flashed in the win- 
dows of the little building. 

“Jove, I wonder what that was!” cried Mr. 
Wilson leaping up. “It wasn’t far enough away 
for a ship being sunk.” 

“Hanged if I know!” replied the scientist. 
“Perhaps Benson’s arrived on his destroyer; 
shouldn’t wonder if the boys signaled him.” 

“Too heavy for a gunshot,” declared the other, 
“though it might have been a torpedo or mine; 
but that wouldn’t account for the rifle fire.” 

“Mebbe the dirty swabs have blown up their 
own craft,” suggested a sailor. 

But whatever the cause, the explosion had evi- 


PRISONERS 


93 

dently created great consternation among the Ger- 
mans, for loud voices and excited tones could be 
heard on the other side of the pen’s walls. There 
were no following explosions, however, and, ulti- 
mately, even the Americans dropped off to sleep. 

They were aroused at dawn by the guard and 
were ordered out of the pen and having been lined 
up against the wall, where they were under the 
rifles of the Germans, they were shackled together 
in pairs with heavy chains around their ankles. 

Maddened as they were at this indignity and 
cruelty there was no use in protesting, for all real- 
ized that they were helpless and must endure in 
patience or suffer far worse. When all had been 
shackled, they were marched out of the stockade 
and through a path cut in the forest until they 
came to a small stream with gravelly banks. Here 
they were halted and for the first time they real- 
ized why their lives had been spared. Across the 
stream, a rude dam had been constructed and near 
it were several trough-like affairs of boards with 
piles of gravel alongside. Just beyond was a lit- 
tle, shed-like structure and a small stockade, and 
with the entrance to the latter guarded by two 
armed sentries. In and out of the entrance to the 
stockade naked, brown-skinned Indians and 
ragged, unkempt white men were passing and bear- 
ing heavy sacks which they dumped onto the piles 
of gravel where other prisoners were shoveling 


94 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

the gravel into the trough -like objects through 
which water was pouring. 

“Now I understand !” cried the scientist as his 
eyes rapidly took in the surroundings. “We were 
wanted as laborers! They’ve a placer mine here 
and use their prisoners as slaves!” 

At this instant one of the toiling Indians slipped 
on a round stone and, as he recovered his balance, 
he brushed against a German who was overseeing 
the work. With an oath, the latter raised a heavy 
cudgel he was carrying and rained blow after blow 
upon the Indian’s back, shoulders and head. With- 
out uttering a cry, or even a groan, the prisoner 
strove to ward off the blows but in vain, and 
with blood streaming from the wounds, he sud- 
denly sprang forward, wrenched the club from the 
German and with a wild yell brought it crashing 
down on the Hun’s head. There was a dull thud 
like the staving of a cask and the officer crumpled 
up like an empty sack, while, at the same instant, 
there was the sharp report of a rifle and the Indian 
sank lifeless beside the body of the German. 

“Bully for the Indian !” exclaimed Mr. Wilson. 
“God, what damnable swine these Huns are!” 

The six new prisoners had now reached the en- 
trance to the stockade and passing within they 
saw a large shaft opening into the bank at the rear, 
and from which the captives were bearing the 


PRISONERS 


95 

sacks of gravel. Under the guns of a guard the 
white men were lined up, the shackles were re- 
moved from their ankles and they were handed 
shovels and driven into the mine. 

In a way they were fortunate, for their work 
was to dig the gravel and fill the sacks and thus 
they were in comparative comfort in the cool in- 
terior of the shaft, while their more unfortunate 
fellows were compelled to tramp back and forth in 
the broiling sun and loaded down like pack ani- 
mals. No conversation was permitted and the 
prisoners were forced to labor incessantly by the 
armed guard who stood over them and the slightest 
cessation of labor or a single word uttered re- 
sulted in a cruel blow. 

At noon, work ceased for an hour and the pris- 
oners were given meager rations of dried beef, 
pounded plantains and water and similar food was 
served at sundown. No shelter was provided, the 
building being used exclusively by the Germans, 
and the only bedding consisted of dried palm 
leaves thrown upon the ground. 

After work was over at sundown, the white men 
gathered in a little group and, in low tones, com- 
pared notes and discussed various schemes for 
escaping, while the Indians, expressionless and 
with smoldering hate in their eyes, squatted by 
themselves and remained sullen and silent. 


g6 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“If we’re ever going to get out of here we’ll 
need those Indians’ help,” declared Mr. Grayson. 
“I’m going to make friends with them.” 

Approaching the Indians the scientist addressed 
them in Caribbee and instantly the fellows’ faces 
brightened and in a few moments Mr. Grayson 
was chatting with them on friendly terms. They 
had, it seemed, been captured through trickery, 
the Germans visiting their village and distributing 
rum and presents, and, as soon as the men were 
intoxicated, murdering the women and children 
and making the men prisoners. The scientist ques- 
tioned them carefully and suggested that it might 
be possible for one of their number to escape and 
reach their fellow tribesmen and secure help to 
attack the Germans, and explaining that while he 
did not expect the Indians to win victory he 
thought that during the excitement of the attack 
the captives might escape. 

The Indians listened attentively, but appeared 
to have little hopes of the success of the plan. 
They explained that it would be useless to expect 
the Mogollones, who were the nearest tribe, to aid, 
as they would certainly kill or make prisoners 
the white men who escaped ; but that the “blancos” 
might be induced to come to their aid provided 
they could be reached. As for their own tribes- 
men, they were peaceful Coastal people and were 


PRISONERS 


97 

so much in awe of the Germans that they would 
not dare attack them. 

The scientist was intensely interested the mo- 
ment the Indians mentioned the white tribe which 
they called “blancos,” but he could gain no very 
definite information. All the Indians could tell 
him was that the tribe inhabited the hills some 
distance from the coast, that they were deadly 
enemies of the Mogollones, but friendly with other 
tribes, and that recently they had been led by a 
new chief whom they had rescued from the Mo- 
gollones. 

By the time Mr. Grayson returned to his com- 
panions it had been agreed that at the first oppor- 
tunity one of the Indians would slip away at night 
and strive to reach the mysterious tribe, and with 
this faint ray of hope the prisoners felt much 
relieved. 

Day followed day, each being a nightmarish, 
torturing period of heart-breaking labor, the only 
change being that the gangs took turns working 
in the tunnel and carrying the heavy sacks to the 
sluices where the sand was washed and the gold 
and platinum it contained was gathered by the 
Germans. 

On the second night an Indian disappeared and 
the Germans redoubled their vigilance and their 
severities, and all prisoners were chained each 


98 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

evening. Then, one day, a German officer hurried 
into the camp, and evidently bearing news of great 
importance, for there was suppressed excitement 
among the officers and guards. Presently the cap- 
tives were ordered to cease work and were herded 
together in the stockade and then, under heavy 
guard, were marched back through the forest to 
the pen where they first had been confined. 



MAPTEFC^ 



A Narrow Escape 


the boys, too amazed to speak, gazed 



upon the smoldering ruins of the camp, 


they could scarce believe their eyes. 
It seemed impossible that the schooner could have 
vanished and that no living soul was to be seen. 
Fred was the first to find his voice. “Oh, Rob!” 
he cried. “What has happened?” And then, as 
he caught sight of the huddled figures on the 
beach, “Look, Rob, there are dead men on the 
beach! Something awful’s happened!” 

“De’ils work!” exclaimed the Scotch lad. “I’m 
thinkin’ ’tis the doin’s o’ yon Huns. Come alang, 
laddie, maybe there’s a bit life left in yon puir 


Forgetting fear and caution, the two boys drove 
their cayuca ashore, and horror stricken at the 
sight, examined each of the bodies carefully, but 
found no signs of life. But the empty pistol shells 


99 


100 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


scattered about left no doubt as to the identity 
of the murderers and the bits of wreckage and 
splintered timbers from the schooner told only too 
well what had become of the vessel. Despite their 
inexpressible grief and amazement at what had 
occurred during their absence, the boys were some- 
what relieved when they found that neither Mr. 
Wilson’s nor the scientist’s body was among the 
slain. 

“They’ve been taken prisoners,” declared Fred 
when the spot had been thoroughly searched with- 
out finding trace of the missing men. “They must 
have been taken away in the submarine.” 

“Hoot, mon!” exclaimed Rob. “Do ye no ken 
the sound o’ shootin’ an’ the explosion we heard? 
’Twas the Huns a-killin’ o’ these puir laddies and 
blowin’ up the schooner, Fred! An’ yon sub- 
marine could naw pass alang yon creek without 
makin’ o’ a muckle big wave ; an’ ye ken weel there 
was naw sich, lad.” 

“Yes, that’s so,” admitted Fred. “But then 
where did they go? Oh, dear, what can we do, 
Rob?” 

•“Fred, me lad,” replied the other. “No boat 
went oot yon creek, we ken that. An’ dinna ye 
mind as the captain, puir lad, said ’twas an island 
we’re on? Hoot, mon, an island has more sides 
than one! Come alang, Fred, there’ll be a wee 
bit trail a leadin’ oot fra here!” 


A NARROW ESCAPE iox 

A few moments’ search revealed the pathway 
through the bush, and following the plainly 
marked trail made by the men’s heavy boots, the 
two boys cautiously made their way through the 
jungle until they came in sight of the beach where 
the Germans had moored their cutter. No one 
was in sight and convinced that there was nothing 
to fear, the two left the shelter of the bush and 
walked forwards across the beach. The sand was 
smooth and the imprints of so many feet were 
everywhere that it was impossible for the boys to 
tell the number of Germans who had landed. 

But the tracks left by the party going to and 
returning from the trail showed that fully fifteen 
men had gone to the attack and that only two 
prisoners had been brought back, while the deep 
imprint of the cutter’s keel proved how they had 
arrived and departed. 

“We must find them,” declared Fred when both 
were convinced that no more information could be 
obtained from the footprints. “The Huns must 
have come from that vessel or that house we saw 
and father and Mr. Grayson must be there. Even 
if we’re taken prisoners it’s better than staying 
here alone with all those dead men, and just think 
how Dad must be worrying over us.” 

“Aye, Fred, me lad,” replied Rob shaking his 
head doubtfully. “I dinna doot he’s worrit lad; 
but ’twill do naw good to put our ain heads i’ the 


102 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


same noose. ’Tis weel to find the spot where they 
are, but I mind ’twill be a lang search, laddie. 
Fra yon hill we could naw see naught but man- 
grove an’, a wee bit o’ masts an’ roof an’ ye ken 
the swamp’s muckle big. ’Tis like a-searchin’ i’ 
a hay-rick for a bit needle, Fred.” 

“Yes, I know it does seem hopeless,” agreed the 
other. “But we know the general direction of the 
ship and the house from here and if we keep on in 
the same general direction we may find it. We 
must, Rob; we simply must! Besides,” he added, 
“the Huns went from Jiere and they must have 
gone through pretty big creeks with their boat. 
We can bring the cayuca around here and follow 
the big channels and maybe we’ll find some traces 
where the German boat went. Come on, Rob, 
anything’s better than to sit here doing nothing.” 

There seemed no other way, and hurrying back 
over the trail, the boys reached their canoe and 
paddled rapidly across the lagoon searching for 
an opening in the mangroves which would lead 
them to the other side of the island. At last they 
discovered a tiny channel and, by pushing and 
hacking at the branches, gradually forced their 
little craft through the dense growth, and an hour 
later emerged near the beach where the Huns had 
landed. 

The channel, through which the Germans had 
approached, was soon found, for it was the only 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


103 


large creek, and with eyes intently examining 
every branch and tree for signs of the cutter’s 
passage, the two boys paddled along the waterway. 
Over and over again the channels forked and di- 
vided, but luck was with the boys and, guided 
sometimes by a broken branch, sometimes by the 
still-wet banks where the cutter’s wash had thrown 
the water, and still more often by some blind in- 
stinct the boys followed the course of the Hun 
craft. 

They had proceeded thus for several hours and 
the sun was getting low in the west when Rob’s 
quick ear caught a strange sound, — the creak and 
rattle of a block and tackle. “Hist, Fred!” he whis- 
pered, “did ye naw hear it? There’s a boat yon- 
der!” 

Hardly had he spoken when the noise was re- 
peated and with it came sounds of human voices. 

Fred nodded. “They must be close ahead,” 
he replied. “We must be careful! Let’s crawl 
through the swamp and have a look.” 

Running the cayuca silently onto the mud the 
boys crept out and with the utmost caution, 
wormed their way among the maze of mangrove 
roots and branches. The mud was soft and slimy 
and gave out no sound ; but it required the greatest 
care to avoid the dead and fallen limbs and pend- 
ent, aerial roots of the trees. At any other time 
the two would have hesitated to crawl through the 


104 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

black and offensive mud, but now, with all their 
senses concentrated on their quest, they gave no 
heed and wallowed and squirmed through the 
slime until covered from head to foot with the 
sticky mud. 

At last, through the openings among the trees, 
they glimpsed a stretch of open water and their 
hearts pounded with excitement as they peered 
forth from their hiding place and saw a large 
schooner yacht moored within a hundred yards 
of where they were concealed. 

Beside the schooner was a power-cutter, and 
a small rowboat was just being lowered into the 
water from the davits. A moment later a couple 
of sailors entered the rowboat and drew her along- 
side the gangway and presently two blindfolded 
and pinioned men were half carried and half 
pushed into the waiting boat. 

The two boys drew sharp breaths, for in the 
captives they had recognized Mr. Wilson and the 
scientist. 

“They’re taking them away!” whispered Fred. 
“Oh, dear, we’re too late!” 

“Hist!” cautioned Rob. “ ’Tis muckle glad we 
should be, lad. Had they stopped aboard yon 
schooner we’d ne’er found them. I’m minded yon 
Huns’ll be transportin’ them ashore to the wee cot 
we saw fra the islan’.” 

“But we don’t know where that is and we can’t 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


105 

follow across that open water,” objected Fred. 

‘‘Hoot, mon !” whispered Rob. “Canna we naw 
watch which creek they gang alang and go the same 
road after dark?” 

“Yes, but I — look, Rob, they’re lowering an- 
other boat!” 

As Fred spoke, another boat was being lowered 
and presently a number of armed men sprang in- 
to it and pulled rapidly away from the schooner. 
The first boat had headed across the open water 
and was now entering a narrow channel in the 
mangroves and as the second boat took the same 
course the boys were convinced that all were bound 
for the same destination. On board the schooner 
all was silent and the vessel was apparently de- 
serted. 

“I wonder if they’ve left the schooner without 
any guard,” remarked Fred. 

“I dinna ken,” replied the other, “but if they 
have yon launch would be a bonny wee ship to 
escape in, — if we could rescue your faither an’ 
Mr. Grayson.” 

“Gosh!” exclaimed Fred. “I believe we could 
get that boat. We could sneak up after dark and 
tow it into the creek here and then we could get 
Dad and Mr. Grayson and the Huns couldn’t catch 
us. Let’s do it !” 

“Hoot, but 9 tis a bonny plan!” chuckled Rob. 
“But mind ye, laddie, ’tis first catch your hare 


io6 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

before you cook him. Are ye thinkin’ yon pirates 
will be deeleeverin’ their prisoners for the askin’ ?” 

“Well, we could get the launch anyway,” per- 
sisted Fred. “Then if the Huns chased us they 
couldn’t catch us.” 

“Aye, I’ll grant ’twould be a wise plan to steal 
yon launch,” admitted Rob. “Do ye naw think 
in her we’d best gang to yon island and signal for 
the destroyer?” 

“But we must find where father and Mr. Gray* 
son are first,” insisted Fred. “Then we can signal 
and guide the destroyer’s men back here.” 

“Provided yon destroyer sees us, lad,” added the 
other. 

The sun had now set and fearing to be caught 
in the swamp by darkness the two boys hurried 
back to their cayuca and cautiously slipped down 
the creek and waited in the shadows of the man- 
groves for nightfall. There was no light visible 
on the schooner and feeling sure that the Germans 
had left no one on guard the canoe was paddled 
noiselessly towards the vessel and reached her side 
in safety. Fred rose carefully until his head was 
above the yacht’s rail and searched the shadowy 
deck for some sailor on watch; but the little ship 
was evidently deserted and the two rapidly untied 
the cutter’s painter and towed her into the swamp. 
This done, they were about to start on their search 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


107 

for the captured men when Rob remembered that 
they had not eaten since morning. 

“Lad, but I’m fair famished!” he announced. 

“So am I,” agreed Fred. “I say, Rob, there 
must be food on the schooner! Let’s go aboard 
and get something to eat! If anyone should come 
we can hear them long before they come near.” 

As there seemed to be no risk in this plan the 
cayuca was again run alongside the schooner and 
the boys, filled with excitement at the adventure, 
crept over the rails to the deck. Although they 
felt sure that nobody was on board, yet they had 
a strange, instinctive feeling that they were not 
alone and they spoke in whispers and moved fur- 
tively. 

The companionway hatch was closed, but was 
unlocked, and the boys cautiously slid it back and 
listened breathlessly at the dark opening disclosed. 
Then, no sound issuing from within, they felt 
their way down the stairway to the cabin. Now 
that their eyes were accustomed to the darkness 
they could distinguish something of their sur- 
roundings and could see the indistinct outlines of 
doors and furnishings. In the center of the room 
was a table bearing a number of dishes and these, 
upon examination, proved to contain bread, a 
partly used roast ham and a quantity of fruit with 
an urn still filled with excellent coffee. 


io8 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“Let’s go on deck and eat,” whispered Fred. “I 
don’t like it down here in the dark and I’m afraid 
to strike a light. My, but it’s creepy!” 

Rob felt much the same way and hastily seizing 
all the provisions they could carry they hurried 
on deck, and squatting on the cabin roof, ate raven- 
ously. Suddenly, from somewhere close at hand, 
came the subdued sound of voices. Rob’s hand, 
holding a slice of ham, stopped half way to his 
mouth; Fred’s jaws seemed paralyzed, and the 
hearts of both boys almost ceased to beat as terror 
stricken they sat, waiting in the darkness, power- 
less to move and expecting at every instant to 
see the Huns spring over the vessel’s rails to the 
deck. But there was no sound of an approach- 
ing boat, no splash of oars and when the voices 
again became audible they seemed no nearer. By 
now the boys had somewhat recovered from their 
first shock and, slipping to the deck, crept to the 
rails and peered intently into the blackness of the 
tropic night and strained their ears for sounds of 
the Huns’ boast; but save for the distant croak- 
ing of frogs, the shrill, weird cry of a nightbird 
and the gentle lapping of the ripples against the 
schooner’s sides, not a sound broke the vast silence 
that brooded over swamp and lagoon. 

“I’m sure I heard voices,” whispered Fred. 
“Where can they be? Say, Rob, let’s get away!” 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


109 

“Hush !” breathed the other. “Listen, there they 
alre again! They’re on the ither side o ’ 1 the 
schooner !” 

Stealing across the decks, the boys lifted their 
heads cautiously above the rail and instantly both 
drew back with suppressed exclamations of won- 
der and surprise. Within ten feet of them the 
superstructure of a submarine rose to the level of 
the schooner’s rails and from the open hatchway 
came the sounds of several voices. 

“Gosh, it’s the U-boat!” exclaimed Fred. 
“She’s lying right alongside !” 

Rob nodded. “Aye,” he whispered in reply. 
“An’ she’s full o’ Huns, lad!” 

“And they might come out at any minute! 
Come along, Rob, let’s beat it !” 

Shaking with terror at the thought, the two 
scurried to their canoe, and pushing off, paddled 
rapidly across the lagoon in the direction taken 
by the Germans’ boats. 

Not until they had gained the shelter of the 
trees and were paddling up the creek did the boys 
breathe freely, for the thought that while they 
had been rummaging in the yacht’s cabin the U- 
boat with its crew had been within a few yards, 
still terrorized them. 

“Golly !” exclaimed Fred, when at last the open 
water had been left behind and the two stopped 


no THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


to rest a moment. “That was a narrow escape! 
Suppose one of the Germans had come aboard the 
schooner while we were below !” 

“Hoot, mon ! a miss is as good as a mile ye ken,” 
replied his companion. “An’ I’m thinkin’ yon 
Huns were havin’ a wee ‘Dock an’ Doris’ afore 
startin’ oot a piratin’ again. Didna ye note they 
were fair shoutin’ an’ guffawin’, lad?” 

“I’ll bet that’s it,” agreed Fred. “Come to think 
of it, they did sound kind of drunk.” 

“Weel, ’tis wise to be a wee bit canny here,” 
cautioned Rob, “your ain voice is a bit excited, 
Fred.” 

“And so was yours, a moment ago,” replied Fred 
in subdued tones. “Now we must hurry and find 
where those Huns went.” 

Silently paddling up the channel, the boys kept 
their craft close to the black fringe of mangroves 
and listened attentively before rounding each 
bend. For nearly an hour they continued; the 
mangroves gave way to forest trees, the banks 
became higher and the boys realized they had! 
reached the mainland. Then, so suddenly and un- 
expectedly that they almost cried out in surprise, 
the cayuca nearly bumped into the two German 
boats moored to the bank. 

Hastily backing into the shadows, the boys lis- 
tened breathlessly, for they fully expected that 
they had been seen ; but as the minutes passed and 


A NARROW ESCAPE hi 

no sounds issued from the boats their confidence 
returned. 

‘Til bet they left the boats deserted tool” de- 
clared Fred. “I say, Rob, we could cut them 
adrift and then the Huns couldn’t chase us!” 

Filled with the excitement at the idea, the boys 
silently approached the boats and, reaching out, 
Fred cut the painter of the nearest and dragging 
it into midstream left it to drift away with the 
current. The second boat was drawn partly upon 
the bank and to reach the painter Fred stepped 
from the cayuca into the Hun craft. “Hello !” he 
exclaimed in low tones. “There are a lot of boxes 
here! I wonder what they are.” 

Stooping close he tried to decipher the stenciled 
marks on the cases, but it was too dark to dis- 
tinguish anything. The cover was loose on one 
box, however, and carefully pulling one of the 
boards aside he thrust in his hand and drew forth 
a cylindrical object and as its nature dawned upon 
him he uttered a low whistle. “Rob!” he whis- 
pered, “it’s dynamite; a whole load of it and a 
big bundle of fuse too !” 

“Well, ’tis not dynamite we’re looking for,” 
replied the other. “ ’Tis your father and Mr. 
Grayson. Hurry, laddie, an’ cut the boat loose!” 

But as Fred busied himself with the painter his 
thoughts were of the explosives and a daring 
scheme occurred to him. “Rob!” he exclaimed as 


1 12 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

they dragged the second boat from the shore. “I’ve 
an idea ! We can go back and blow up the schooner 
with that dynamite and then the Huns can’t carry 
Dad and Mr. Grayson off and we can signal for 
the destroyer ! Let’s do it !” 

Rob ceased paddling and looked at his comrade 
as if he thought him suddenly mad. “Are ye clean 
daffy, lad?” he asked. “Did ye no have fright 
enough when we saw yon U-boat before without 
gangin’ alangside her again ?” 

But Fred was not to be so easily discouraged. 
“That’s all the better if the sub is alongside,” he 
declared. “Just as likely as not it’ll sink her too. 
It wouldn’t take but a minute to put the boat load 
of dynamite alongside and fire it. Just think what 
an adventure that would be, and how we’d be 
helping the Allies! Why, Rob, we’d be doing our 
bit to win the war!” 

But Rob was still dubious. “An’ ye’ll not bother 
finding your father and Mr. Grayson?” he asked. 

“Of course we will!” replied Fred. “We can 
tie this boat down the creek and then come back 
and find them and when we know where they are 
we can go and blow up the schooner and go out 
to the island and signal for the destroyer. Be- 
sides the noise of the explosion could be heard a 
long way and the destroyer might hear it and come 
close. It’s a fine scheme, Rob ! I’ll bet it’ll work !” 

“Maybe,” admitted Rob, to whom the wild idea 


A NARROW ESCAPE 113 

was beginning to appeal. “But what about yon 
Huns here in the bush ?” 

“They can’t chase us without a boat; can they?” 
argued Fred. “That’s the best of my scheme. 
They’ll be marooned here and can’t get away until 
the destroyer comes!” 

“Hoot, mon, I dinna ken but you’re right !” ad- 
mitted the other. “I’m game for it, Fred, my 
lad. Come alang!” 

So, in accordance with the mad scheme, the boat 
with the explosives was moored to an out jutting 
branch and the two boys pulled their cayuca ashore 
and soon found the pathway into the forest. But 
they had proceeded only a short distance when 
their ears caught the sound of distant voices and, 
thoroughly alarmed, the two turned and scurried 
back to the canoe and hastily embarking paddled 
the craft furiously down the stream. 

“We’re safe now,” announced Fred. “But I 
wouldn’t dare go back there, Rob; it’s too risky. 
Besides, I don’t see what good we could do even 
if we did find them. I vote we try to get help 
first.” 

“Aye,” assented Rob. “I’m thinkin’ the most 
important thing is not to get caught our ainsel’s.” 

Towing the German boat, the boys paddled as 
rapidly as possible towards the lagoon, and making 
a wide turn, approached the ghostly-looking 
schooner from the opposite side to the U-boat. 


1 1 4 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

As they slipped alongside they strained their 
ears for any sound but evidently those aboard the 
undersea boat had quieted down, or had retired for 
the night, for no voices were audible. Lashing the 
boat with its dangerous cargo under the counter 
of the schooner the boys attached a length of fuse 
to a stick dynamite and, striking a match, touched 
it off. At the very instant the report of a gun 
rang out from the distant forest, followed in quick 
succession by a second and a third, and the boys, 
realizing that the loss of the boats had been dis- 
covered and the alarm given, drove their paddles 
into the water in a frenzied effort to escape. But 
barely had their canoe cleared the schooner’s stern 
when muffled shouts sounded from the submarine, 
a light flashed, there was a sharp, vicious bark of 
a pistol and a bullet splashed the water within a 
yard of the speeding canoe. Filled with unspeak- 
able terror at being discovered, the boys paddled 
for their lives, not daring to look back; but from 
the sounds they knew the Huns were getting out 
a boat, while bullets sang overhead or plumped 
into the water all about and then, as they heard the 
splash of oars and the rattle of oar-locks they 
knew the Germans had given chase. At the same 
instant a blinding flood of light enveloped them 
and Fred grave a groan of despair. 

“Searchlight!” he gasped. “It’s all up, Rob!” 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


ii5 

Even as he spoke a bullet splintered the edge of 
the cayuca, and the boys knew their minutes were 
numbered, when there was a deafening explosion, 
the searchlight was snuffed out, and the cayuca 
rocked and pitched upon the silent black waters. 

Frightened almost out of their wits, weak from 
the strain of the past few moments and almost 
hysterical with relief at their sudden deliverance, 
the boys sank limply back, utterly unable to pad- 
dle or to speak. 

Fred was the first to recover. “Gee!” he cried. 
“That was lucky!” 

But all Rob could say was, “Hoot, mon ! Hoot !” 

“I’ll bet that finished the sub too,” declared Fred 
as the two regained some measure of composure. 
“That boat’s not chasing us and everything’s dark. 
Let’s hurry up and get down to the island now !” 

“An’ do ye mind where yon islands are?” que- 
ried Rob. “ ’Tis dark as a pocket an’ which way 
do we steer to gain yon creek where we left the 
launch ?” 

Fred gazed about helplessly. “I’m sure I don’t 
know,” he admitted. “But wherever we paddle 
we must find the shore and then we can follow 
along to the creek.” 

“Very well,” assented Rob, shaking his head 
dubiously. “But I’m thinkin’ ’twill be daybreak 
before we find our way oot, laddie.” 


n6 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

However, anything was preferable to drifting 
about on the lagoon and the boys paddled slowly 
ahead, striving to keep a straight course. 

“Seems to me it’s an awful distance to shore,” 
declared Fred after they had paddled steadily for 
half an hour or more. 

“Aye, I was thinkin’ the same,” replied his com- 
rade. “Maybe we’re not going straight.” 

“I guess that must be it,” agreed Fred. “We 
must be paddling in a circle. No, we’re not ; here’s 
mangroves !” 

As he spoke the heavier black of the trees be- 
came outlined against the sky and both boys 
breathed sighs of relief, for they were utterly ex- 
hausted. Deciding that before they continued 
their search for the cutter they would take a short 
rest, the cayuca was made fast to a drooping 
branch and the boys stretched themselves on the 
bottom of the canoe. In low tones they discussed 
the exciting events of the night, made their plans 
for signaling to the destroyer and wondered what 
the Germans and their prisoners had thought when 
they heard the explosion. They had no intention 
of dozing, but they had been through a strenuous 
day and night filled with adventure, excitement, 
and sorrow, and now, rocked gently in the canoe 
in the shelter of the mangroves, their tired eyes 
closed and soon both were sleeping soundly. 

They awoke with a start to find the sun shin- 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


117 

ing brightly and rubbed their eyes in wonder as 
they gazed about. They had gone to sleep with 
the cayuca moored to a mangrove on the shores 
of the lagoon, but now they found themselves 
upon a small lake-like expanse of water hemmed 
in on all sides by dense mangrove swamps. “Where 
— where are we?” cried Fred. 

“I dinna ken,” replied Rob. “We must ha’ 
gone adrift in the nicht an’ come here.” 

“Well, if we drifted in here there must be a 
creek and we can paddle out again,” said Fred con- 
fidently. “My, but Fm hungry, Rob!” 

To secure their breakfast was, however, the least 
of their troubles and within an hour they were 
dining on fresh fish and broiled pigeon and with 
appetites satisfied felt quite cheerful again. 

But as they paddled along the shores of the tiny 
lagoon they began to realize the predicament they 
were in, for instead of one opening in the man- 
groves there were a score and the boys had not 
the least idea which was the one through which 
they had drifted as they slumbered. 

Rob argued that if they had been carried by the 
current the channel which had a current flowing 
into the pond would be the one; but Fred pointed 
out that the tide might have turned and the cur- 
rent would then be flowing the opposite way. 
Then when they tried the creeks, they found that 
several had a current flowing in while others had 


n8 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


no current at all and Rob’s idea was abandoned. 
Finally, it was decided that as it was all chance 
anyway they would choose the largest opening 
and accordingly, with each trying to encourage the 
other and both realizing they were lost, the boys 
paddled from the little lake-like lagoon up a wind- 
ing channel through the swamps. For hour after 
hour they paddled on, trying to keep always in 
the main creek and momentarily expecting to come 
forth on the big lagoon. But the sun passed the 
meridian, the boys lunched on the remains of their 
breakfast and resumed their weary way, and the 
afternoon shadows lengthened with no sign of 
open water. Then, as the tired, heartsick boys had 
almost given up in despair the swamp ended ab- 
ruptly and the cayuca shot out upon a broad ex- 
panse of smooth water. But their shouts of joy 
died on their lips as they looked upon the scene 
before them. 

Half a mile distant, low, wooded hills rose from 
the water’s edge; to the left was a rocky islet and 
to the right and behind them rose the dark green 
mangroves of the vast swamp that formed a cres- 
cent-shaped barrier about the lovely bay. 

“We’re hopelessly lost!” cried Fred in discour- 
aged tones and voicing the thoughts which both 
had striven to keep back for hours. “I’ve never 
seen this place before and we haven’t the least 
idea which way to go! Oh, dear! now we never 


A NARROW ESCAPE 


XI 9 

can signal the destroyer or find father and Mr. 
Grayson! And it’s all on account of blowing up 
that schooner. It’s all my fault, Rob!” 

“Hoot, mon, dinna ye lose heart!” said Rob 
bravely. “ ’Tis many a worse place we’ve been 
in, Fred. Maybe if we climb yon hills we can 
see some spot we ken fra there. ’Tis no 
your fault, laddie, an’ ’twas a fine brave stunt 
to blow yon schooner to bit and smash the 
U-boat. Come alang, Fred, ’twill soon be sun- 
down an’ we’ll likely find a beastie o’ some sort 
over yonder for our dinner.” 

Somewhat encouraged by his companion’s 
words, Fred seized his paddle and the canoe rap- 
idly approached the wooded shores. At one spot 
a narrow valley cut through the hills and in its 
center a broad sparkling river flowed between grav- 
elly banks to the bay. At the mouth of this 
stream the boys ran the cayuca ashore and flinging 
themselves down drank long and eagerly of the 
fresh, cool water, for their canteens had been emp- 
tied early in the day and they had suffered greatly 
from thirst for hours. Greatly refreshed they rose 
and carrying their guns climbed up the banks of 
the river and found themselves in a little grassy 
savanna between the hills. They had gone scarcely 
a hundred yards when a deer sprang up a few rods 
distant and was promptly brought down by Rob. 
Game was very plentiful and as the boys retraced 


120 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


their way to the canoe partridges, guans and pi- 
geons constantly whirred from the grass and 
several more deer were seen. 

“We’ll not starve here at any rate,” declared 
Fred as they sat broiling venison cutlets over their 
fire. “The place is full of game. I wonder if 
there are any Indians here?” 

“If there were there wouldna’ be so much game,” 
replied Rob sagely. “An’ there’d be huts or canoes 
about. No, Fred, I’m thinkin’ we can sleep sound 
and not worry aboot Indians the nicht.” 

By the time they had dined the sun had set, 
and realizing it was too late to attempt to ascend 
a hill, the two boys stretched themselves upon the 
soft sand beside the river and discussed plans for 
the morrow. 

But as night came on countless insects and in- 
numerable crabs appeared and the boys were com- 
pelled to seek refuge in the canoe where, lulled by 
the songs of crickets, the piping of tree-frogs and 
the babbling of the river they soon feel asleep. 

They were aroused with a start by the bumping 
of the canoe and both rose to a sitting posture 
wondering what had happened, and then, a low 
cry of amazement rose to their lips to be instantly 
repressed, for on every hand rose enormous forest 
trees ; upon the bank beside them blazed a fire and, 
outlined against its ruddy glare and almost within 
arm’s length, squatted two gigantic naked Indians ! 



ALMOST WITHIN ARM'S LENGTH SQUATTED TWO 
GIGANTIC INDIANS 


121 
















The Mogollones 


N EVER in all their adventures had the 
two boys been so frightened before. To 
fall asleep confident of safety and to 
awake and find oneself a prisoner of savages in 
the heart of an unknown forest, is enough to try 
the stoutest nerves and the boys’ nerves had al- 
ready been strained almost to the breaking point. 
And to add to their terror were the tales of the 
Goajira Indians which they had heard. Not for 
an instant did the two doubt that their last hour 
had come and that presently the glowering red- 
men would seize them and slice off the soles of their 
feet, and, speechless with dread, they sat shivering 
with terror in the canoe. 

Never had they seen such terrifying figures as 
their captors presented. Huge of stature, heavily 
muscled and nude, save for loin-cloths of scarlet, 


123 



124 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

the savages were frightful enough; but, in addi- 
tion, they were made still more hideous by being 
painted from head to foot. One was inky-black 
with face and arms chalky-white ; the other striped 
with scarlet and blue, while their long, black hair 
was festooned in a huge knot at one side of the 
head and fell over their shoulders like a heavy, 
black mane. Upon their wrists and ankles gleamed 
golden rings; big golden discs were suspended from 
their necks and on their heads they wore crowns 
of gaudy parrot feathers. Slung like bandoliers 
across their shoulders were strings of jaguar and 
wild-hog teeth, and in their hands they held long, 
powerful bows, barbed-headed arrows and stout 
lances or javelins. 

That they were the dreaded Mogollones the boys 
felt sure and they wondered dully if the stories of 
their cannibalism were true and if the fire was to 
be used by the Indians for cooking them. 

All this flashed through their brains in an in- 
stant, although to the boys it seemed an age, and 
then they shuddered as the Indians rose slowly 
and bending forward grasped their captives, and 
lifting them with one hand, tossed them on the 
shore. 

Although his teeth chattered and his tongue felt 
parched and swollen, yet Fred bravely essayed to 
speak and stuttered out a few words in Spanish, 
but the Indians, if they understood, gave no heed 


THE MOGOLLONES 


125 


and bending over the boys felt of their garments 
and prodded and poked them as if they were great 
curiosities, the while conversing in low guttural 
tones. 

Then, while one Indian squatted by the captives, 
the other stepped to the cayuca and returned bear- 
ing the boys’ guns, machetes and other belongings. 
The machetes they promptly confiscated and placed 
in the belts of their breech-clouts, while the guns 
seemed to excite their curiosity. Presently, in han- 
dling the weapons, one of the savages pulled the 
trigger a^id with the roar of the discharge the two 
Indians threw themselves backwards and stood, 
very evidently frightened and surprised, staring 
at the guns. Then, finding nothing happened, they 
again approached the boys, but giving the guns a 
wide berth. 

“I don’t believe they know what guns are!” 
whispered Fred in a shaky voice. 

“They ken weel eno’,” replied Rob. “Did ye 
naw see yon de’il leap awa’ when it fired? ’Tis a 
muckle reespect they have for guid powder an’ 
shot, lad.” 

“That was the noise,” answered Fred. “They 
didn’t know how to hold the guns and just look 
at the way they sidle ’round them. I wonder if 
they’re going to kill us or torture us.” 

Before Rob could reply one of the Indians, — he 
of the striped paint, — began to talk to Fred in a 


126 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


low, guttural tongue. His words were, of course, 
utterly unintelligible to the boys; but by his ges- 
tures and expression they gathered that he was 
asking them questions regarding their presence 
and themselves. 

Ever since the boys had witnessed Mr. Grayson 
conversing in sign language with their Indian cap- 
tors in Costa Rica, the two had practised this 
useful and silent form of communication and the 
Scouts had all become quite expert at it. Here, 
however, was the first real chance they had had 
to put their skill to the test and, somewhat dubi- 
ously, Fred attempted to reply to the Indian by 
gestures. His efforts met with immediate success 
and the Indian’s face showed plainly that he 
grasped the boy’s meaning and as soon as Fred 
ceased he replied in the same manner; but his 
movements were so rapid and the signs so different 
from those to which the boys were accustomed 
that Fred was completely at a loss. Patiently the 
Indian repeated his gestures and little by little the 
boys grasped their meaning and ere long a more 
or less comprehensible means of communication 
was established. The Indians seemed very curious 
about the boys and whence they had come, and in- 
deed, they appeared to regard them more in the 
light of strange specimens than as prisoners or 
enemies, while the boys were equally curious re- 


THE MOGOLLONES 


127 

garding their captors, and were still more anxious 
as to their ultimate fate. 

“I don’t believe they’ve ever seen white boys be- 
fore!” declared Fred, during a lull in the sign con- 
versation. ‘They can’t understand why we are not 
brown or haven’t beards. It’s strange too, when 
they live so near the coast.” 

“Weel, ye mind Mr. Grayson told us no one 
tries to land hereabout,” replied Rob. “An’ I 
dinna blame them if yon savages are samples o’ 
the denizens o’ these parts. An’ ’tis naw likely 
these braw laddies ha’ spent their week-ends in the 
towns, ye ken.” 

“I wish I could ask him who they are and what 
they’re going to do with us,” said Fred. “Gosh, 
I wish this sign talk wasn’t so limited!” 

“I’m minded they’re naw so savage as they 
look,” said the other, “an’ I dinna believe they’ll 
murder us. Gi’n they minded to kill us they’d ha’ 
done so lang agone, laddie.” 

“They don't seem very fierce,” admitted Fred. 
“But perhaps they’re just saving us for torture, or 
to eat.” 

“Hoot, mon! why dinna we ask him an’ have 
the suspense over ?” replied Rob. “I’ll try my hand 
at yon game a wee bit.” 

Very painstakingly the Scotch boy commenced 
to gesticulate and striving to convey the question 
which was uppermost in both boys’ minds. 


128 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

He pointed to the fire and to himself, pointed to 
the Indians and made exaggerated motions with 
his jaws as if chewing; smacked his lips and patted 
his stomach and all so gravely and seriously that 
Fred, despite his nervousness, burst out laughing. 

The Indians watched Rob gravely with ex- 
pressionless faces and then, a light of understand- 
ing showing on their features, they approached the 
fire, stirred it into flames' and drew the keen-edged 
machetes which they had captured from the boys. 

“Now you have done it!” cried Fred in terrified 
tones. “They think you want them to eat us !” 

But the Indians, instead of slaughtering the 
boys as the latter expected, stepped to one side, 
reached up to some object hanging to a limb of a 
near-by tree and commenced hacking at it with 
their machetes. An instant later* they turned, each 
with a large piece of raw meat, and again stepped 
towards the fire. 

“Gang awa, Fred!” exclaimed Rob. “The lad- 
dies think we’re hungry an’ they’re broilin’ joint9 
for us, I mind they didna understand me but I’m 
no displeased; I’m fair famished, my lad!” 

A moment later the Indians approached the boys 
with the smoking, broiled venison and squatted 
silent as statues while the hungry lads devoured 
the juicy meat. 

They had almost finished when the sound of 
splashing water came from the river and instantly 


THE MOGOLLONES 129 

one of the Indians leaped to his feet and uttered 
a low, quavering call. Immediately the call was 
repeated from down the stream and a moment 
later a big cayuca swept from the shadows into the 
ruddy reflection of the firelight. 

The boys fairly gasped with amazement, for in 
the canoe were half a dozen Indians and as many 
women. Giving no heed to the boys, the two on 
shore hurried to the big cayuca and helped their 
comrades drag it on the bank, all the while talking 
excitedly and rapidly. 

‘‘That’s what they’ve been waiting for before 
killing us !” exclaimed Fred. “They wanted to make 
a regular feast of it!” 

“Weel, they left us the guns,” replied Rob as he 
seized his weapon, “an’ we can make a wee bit re- 
sistance at any rate.” 

Fred had also recovered his gun and both boys 
rose, and with backs to a huge tree-trunk, awaited 
the next move of the Indians and determined to 
fight for their lives to the last. 

But the Indians showed no signs of hostility as 
they approached. The two who had captured the 
boys led their fellows towards the two frightened 
prisoners and keeping up a rapid conversation and 
pointing and gesticulating, while the new arrivals 
stood at a little distance and gazed at the boys with 
far more curiosity and awe than enmity. 

Only one of the newcomers was armed, and 


130 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

gradually the boys became somewhat reassured and 
breathed easier. By now, the women had dis- 
embarked and the boys noticed that each carried 
a loaded basket on her back suspended by a broad 
band of bark across the forehead. Placing the 
baskets on the ground the women scarcely glanced 
at the boys, but at once commenced cutting up and 
broiling the deer from which the boys had been 
served. Then, reaching into one of the baskets, 
a woman drew forth a handful of some coarse, 
gray substance and scattered it liberally over the 
half-cooked meat. 

“Why, it’s salt!” exclaimed Fred. “Now I know 
why these chaps are here. They’ve come down to 
the coast to make salt!” 

“Weel, they’re not sprinklin’ it on our flesh,” 
said Rob. “An’ while there’s life there’s hope, ye 
ken.” 

The Mogollones had now settled themselves to 
the feast and the boys resumed their seats on the 
earth, watching the Indians intently and striving 
to catch the meaning of their words and gestures. 

The meal over, the Indians gathered in a circle 
around the boys and carried on a long discussion 
and from their manner the captives were sure that 
they were the subject under consideration. The 
whole affair was carried on very gravely and the 
boys, despite their fears and nervousness, were 
greatly interested. Each Indian in turn would 


THE MOGOLLONES 


131 

make a long statement and at the close all the 
others would repeat his last word and would utter 
a long drawn “Oo — Yaa” in chorus. 

Finally the matter appeared to be settled and 
the striped individual signed* for the boys to rise 
and enter the big canoe ; the women picked up their 
baskets and stowed them and the men followed, 
pushing the craft into the stream and seizing their 
paddles. 

“I would like to know where we’re bound for,” 
said Fred as the cayuca swept upstream and into 
the black shadows of the forest. 

“Bide a wee an’ we’ll ken richt enough,” replied 
Rob. “Hoot, laddie, but we’re having our full o’ 
adventure.” 

For several hours the cayuca sped on, grazing 
jutting rocks, turning* sharply around bends and 
avoiding snags in what seemed to the boys a mi- 
raculous manner, for, in the inky blackness, they 
could not see a yard in any direction. Then, with 
a sharp cry, the Indians backed water so suddenly 
that the boys all but lost their balance and at the 
same instant there was a blood-curdling scream 
from above and the boys, with strange, tingling 
sensations of their scalps, looked up to see two 
luminous green eyes blazing from the black mass 
of foliage over the river. Almost unconsciously, 
the boys threw up their guns and fired. At the 
flash and roar, the women screamed and dropped 


x 3 2 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

flat, the men uttered startled yells and cowered 
back and with a gurgling cry some huge body 
splashed into the river scarce six feet from the 
canoe. 

At this sound the Indians uttered exclamations 
of surprise and wonder, and swinging the cayuca 
about, gazed intently at the water. A moment 
later, two of them dropped their paddles and reach- 
ing out drew an immense jaguar over the edge of 
the canoe. 

As the limp, spotted body slid into the cayuca 
the Indians grew wildly excited, jabbering and 
gesticulating and jumping about, until it seemed 
certain they would capsize the craft. 

“I told you they’d never seen a gun !” exclaimed 
Fred. ‘They’ve just gone crazy over that jaguar. 
My, isn’t he a whopper !” 

“Aye, I’m thinkin’ mysel’ ’tis a new diversion 
for them,” assented Rob. “They did seem fair 
fashed at the report. An’ ’tis so, laddie, we’ll be 
muckle more feared than hurt.” 

By now the Indians had quieted down and re- 
sumed their way, but ever and anon conversing 
in low tones and turning wondering faces towards 
the two boys. 

At last the blackness that hemmed in the canoe 
became less dense, the faint outlines of trees and 
foliage were visible, the sky grew pink and mauve 
and in a flash day had dawned. Presently, the 



WITH A GURGLING CRY SOME HUGE BODY SPLASHED 
INTO THE RIVER 


133 















THE MOGOLLONES 


*35 


cayuca was run upon a sandbank and while some 
of the Indians commenced building a fire, others 
slipped into the forest. Much to the boys’ surprise 
the women proceeded to light the fire by rubbing 
two sticks together, for although the Scouts had 
often practised making fire by means of a bow- 
drill and fire-block they had never seen it obtained 
in the primitive method of these Indians. 

Holding a short piece of dry wood between her 
feet the Indian woman placed a pointed stick in 
a tiny notch in its surface and rapidly twirled the 
spindle between her palms. In less than a minute 
the stick commenced to smoke, the little pile of 
pulverized wood-dust glowed, and placing a bit of 
dry palm bark over it, the woman rapidly blew it 
into a flame. 

While this had been going on several of the 
women had waded into the river, and up to their 
waists in water, were dipping their hands into the 
stream as if searching for something. By the time 
the fire was blazing these women returned to shore, 
each carrying a small basket filled with crayfish 
and before these had been cooked the men appeared 
from the forest carrying a small deer and a wild 
turkey. 

Breakfast over, the cayuca was again headed up- 
stream. Soon the river grew wider with numerous 
small, rocky islands between which the water 
rushed in foaming rapids and small cataracts. 


i 3 6 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

Through these the Indians dragged the canoe, leap- 
ing into the water up to their chins, tugging, haul- 
ing and lifting, and inch by inch winning their way 
into the more tranquil spaces above. Up from the 
river banks rose the dense forest, a solid, unbroken 
wall a hundred feet or more in height and of a 
myriad shades of green, while, here and there, 
the giant trees were glorious masses of purple, 
scarlet, white or golden blossoms which, dropping 
to the river, had transformed its surface to a 
carpet of wondrous hues. At every turn some new 
or novel sight was revealed and the boys constantly 
uttered exclamations of wonder and admiration, 
for never in all their experiences in Central Amer- 
ica had they beheld such marvelous forest scenery. 
Then, at last, the cayuca was swung from the 
river into a narrow stream and through a veritable 
tunnel of green the journey was continued for 
several hours, when the forest ended abruptly and 
on every hand stretched broad, grassy savannas 
dotted with island-like clumps of trees and palms. 
In the far distance rose lofty mountains, their sum- 
mits wreathed in clouds, and through the center 
of the savanna flowed the winding, silvery stream 
along which the canoe sped on. Everywhere along 
the grassy banks great alligators dozed and slipped 
clumsily into the water at the cayuca’s approach; 
immense flocks of ducks rose from the sedge and 
wheeled overhead in clouds; huge white jabiru 


THE MOGOLLONES 


137 


storks posed majestically and gazed curiously at 
the passing craft; deer leaped from the water- 
side and sped bounding through the lush grass, 
and flocks of gaudy macaws and noisy, bright- 
hued parroquets screeched and screamed at the in- 
truders from the spiny palm trees by the river- 
side. 

It was marvelously interesting and novel to the 
boys and they quite forgot the predicament they 
were in as they watched the multitude of strange 
birds and the ever-shifting panorama. About half 
way across the savanna the Indians headed into the 
long grass, and pushing through, moored the ca- 
yuca among half a dozen canoes in a hidden pool. 

“Now we’re going to their village!” exclaimed 
Fred as the party disembarked. “Perhaps they’ll 
kill us here !” 

“Hoot, mon, don’t be croakin’!” replied Rob 
rather impatiently. “Ye’re too pessimeestic, lad. 
More like they’ll be a bobbin’ o’ their pates to us 
as superior bein’s, or I’m no Scot.” 

From the landing place a well-beaten path led 
across the savannas and over this the Indians led 
the way, followed by the two boys, with the women 
in the rear. The grass rose above the boys’ eyes 
and they had no idea of their surroundings or of 
the direction they were taking and several times 
the trail forked; but after an hour’s tramp one 
of the forested hummocks rose before them, and 


138 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

passing through the outer rim of trees, they came 
suddenly upon the Indian village. 

For a space of an acre the surface of the hum- 
mock had been cleared and transformed into a 
level expanse of soft, white sand and, scattered 
over this and forming a rude square about it, were 
a score or so of well-built, wattled houses thatched 
with palm leaves. Here and there in the shade of 
thatched roofed sheds women were busy grind- 
ing corn on stone slabs, baking cassava cakes or 
weaving hammocks, while little knots of men were 
scraping bows and winding arrows, and naked, 
brown-skinned children romped and played every- 
where in the baking, glaring sand. But at sight 
of the new arrivals, men and children gathered 
about, questioning and talking, while the women 
left their work to gaze curiously at the prisoners 
and gossip with the women carrying the salt. The 
jaguar skin was exhibited and the story of its kill- 
ing related and, by their grunts and exclamations, 
the boys knew the hearers were expressing their 
surprise at the tale. Presently, however, the chil- 
dren resumed their play, the men returned to their 
various tasks and the striped Indian signed for the 
boys to follow, and led them to a small house near 
the center of the village. The place was vacant 
and the Indian made it clear that this was to be the 
prisoners’ home. The only furnishings were sev- 
eral gourds and calabashes and a huge red earthen 


THE MOGOLLONES 


m 

water jar; but in a moment, a woman approached 
carrying hammocks, which were slung from the 
posts, and a second woman brought a huge cala- 
bash full of steaming hot food. 

“Well, they don’t seem to be such a bad lot after 
all,” announced Fred, as the two hungry boys re- 
galed themselves with the thick stew. “They 
haven’t tied us and we have our guns and a good 
house and plenty of food and ” 

“ Tis fair marvelous! You’re not thinkin’ 
they’re fattening us for a feast?” interrupted Rob, 
with a chuckle. 

“Perhaps they are,” replied Fred, grinning, “but 
at any rate I’d rather be killed with a full stomach 
than hungry !” 

Apparently no one had been left to guard them, 
but they had scarcely finished their meal when the 
striped Indian arrived, accompanied by two par- 
ticularly ugly companions, and indicated to the 
boys that they were to follow him. Fred and Rob 
noticed that the newcomers were armed with 
spears and bows, and once more they were filled 
with forebodings; but the men made no hostile 
move and merely trudged beside the two boys as 
they crossed the sandy space and approached a 
large, circular, open shed-like structure with an 
enormous, hideous wooden idol standing before it. 
In the center of the hut was a bed of glowing coals, 
enclosed by a circle of stones, and seated on an 


I 4 0 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

elaborately carved wooden stool was a very stout, 
wrinkled Indian, whose gray hair stood out like a 
shaggy mane about his face, the sinister expression 
of which was further heightened by being painted 
sky blue, with scarlet circles around eyes and 
mouth. Great ropes of teeth were wound about 
his neck, heavy gold bands encircled his arms, 
wrists and ankles; his crown of blue and scarlet 
feathers was bound with gold and an immense 
uncut emerald blazed in the center of a gold disc 
on his chest. 

“He’s the chief!” ejaculated Fred as he caught 

sight of the old man. “Now we’ll ” his words 

died on his lips and he gave a short cry of horror 
as his glance took in the interior of the place. 
Hung to the rafters, and forming a complete circle 
around the interior of the building, were scores of 
grinning, white human skulls! Rob, too, started 
and shuddered at the sight and both boys stood 
rooted to the spot, gazing wide-eyed and spell- 
bound at the grizzly ornaments. “They are can- 
nibals!” exclaimed Fred in awestruck tones, and 
for once Rob could make no reply. 

But the next moment the boys’ attentions were 
drawn to the chief, who was speaking in high, 
quavering tones to the striped Indian and, as he 
spoke, Indian after Indian appeared to material- 
ize from nowhere until eight had seated them- 
selves about the central fire. For some time the 


THE MOGOLLONES 


141 


conversation continued and then the armed guards 
seized the boys’ arms and led them to the chief. 
The two boys, white and shaking with dread, felt 
instinctively that their fate lay in the hands of the 
ugly old chief who peered at them closely, touched 
and fingered their garments and pinched their 
arms and faces. Then, turning to the assembled 
men, he addressed them, and the boys caught the 
word “Mygones,” used over and over again. As 
the chief ceased speaking there was a buzz of con- 
versation among the listeners and presently one of 
the number rose and spoke to the chief. At his 
words the old man nodded and signaled to one 
of the armed men, who slipped from the hut and, 
an instant later, returned carrying a heavy, dark- 
colored stick. This he handed to the boys, who 
looked at it curiously and absolutely at a loss as 
to what was expected. Then the striped Indian 
approached and by sign language indicated that 
the chief wished to see them shoot. “Gosh!” ex- 
claimed Fred, as the man’s meaning dawned upon 
him. “They think we can make any old stick 
shoot! What are we going to do?” 

“I’m thinkin’ ’tis up to us to make good, lad,” 
replied Rob. “An’ we dinna’ yon old ape will be 
pickin’ our bones wi’ guid relish.” 

“But we can’t,” objected Fred, his voice break- 
ing. “Oh, why didn’t we bring our guns?” 

But the Scotch lad’s brains had been working 


i 4 2 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

rapidly and now a brilliant idea, which might suc- 
ceed, had occurred to him. “Gi’ me the cudgel !” 
he exclaimed, “an’ dinna say there’s no brains 
’neath a hielan’ bonnet!” 

Seizing the stick, Rob stepped back and as he 
passed the fire, he surreptitiously dropped a car- 
tridge among the red hot coals, then, throwing the 
stick to his shoulder like a gun, he leaped aside 
and pointed it at the fire. Almost instantly there 
was a loud report; a flash of light, and blazing 
firebrands flew in every direction. Rob glanced 
about triumphantly and then burst into a roar of 
laughter, for the place was vacant save for Fred, 
and the fat chief was running for his life and lead- 
ing all his fellows in a mad race across the sand. 

“That was great!” cried Fred. “Gee, Rob, you 
are a genius ! I’ll bet they think we’re wizards or 
something !” 

“Aye,” replied the other. “ ’Tis all veery weel 
for the nonce, lad ; but supposin’ yon fatty takes it 
into his ugly head to gi’ us a stick when there’s no 
fire!” 

“They’re too scared for that,” declared Fred, 
confidently. “I’ll bet they won’t dare kill us now.” 

“Weel, we’re free to go, I’m thinkin’,” re- 
marked Rob. “Hoot, mon, but these skulls gi’ me 
the creeps! Come alang, Fred, we’ll gang to our 
wee bit cot yonder.” 

No one interfered with the boys as they left 


THE MOGOLLONES 


143 


the council house and walked Across the sand to- 
wards their hut, and indeed, the Indians all scut- 
tled out of sight as they approached with Rob 
carrying the black stick across his shoulder. 

But before they gained their house two Indians 
dashed from the bush and ran at full speed across 
the clearing, shouting as they sped, and in an in- 
stant all was confusion and excitement. From 
every hut and shed men, women and children ap- 
peared, all hurrying towards the council house', 
where a crowd had gathered about the newcomers 
and the fat chief. 

“I wonder what’s up now?” cried Fred. “Come 
on, Rob, let’s see!” 

Hurrying back the two boys joined the throng, 
which buzzed like an angry hive of bees, while in 
the center was the chief and the two panting run- 
ners talking earnestly and rapidly, 

“I mind ’tis something o’ great importance,” re- 
marked Rob. “Fra’ the way they’re gabblin’ 
’twould be nothing short o’ the signing of peace !” 

“I’d give a lot to know what they are talking 
about,” declared Fred. “All I can hear is that fun- 
ny word, ‘Mygone.’ I wonder what that means, 
anyway?” 

“Weel, I’d gi’ more if ’twas me gone,” chuckled 
Rob. 

“Say, let’s go now!” cried Fred. “They’re all 
so busy they’d never miss us. We can run to the 


i 4 4 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

canoes and get off down the river and all well 
have to do is follow the current. Come on, Rob!” 

“Hoot, mon! ’Tis a fine chance,” agreed Rob 
and, scurrying from the crowd, the two boys 
dashed to their hut, seized their guns and, all un- 
noticed by the Indians, dashed into the brush and 
along the pathway through the grass. It was 
nearly sundown and the boys realized that if they 
could but evade capture until dark, their chances 
for escape were excellent. They reached the ca- 
noes in safety, selected the smallest and, a moment 
later, were paddling madly down stream and keep- 
ing close to the banks for fear the Indians might 
sight them ; but there was no sign or sound of pur- 
suit and, as the sun sank below the distant moun- 
tains and the two fugitives drove their canoe into 
the tunnel-like opening in the forest, they felt that 
they were reasonably safe at last. 

But they had a long distance to travel yet and 
realized that the big cayuca filled with Indians 
could overtake them if they ceased their efforts 
for an instant and untiringly they drove the canoe 
at full speed. Here, hemmed in by the dense for- 
est, it was very dark and the boys could scarce 
distinguish the black waters of the river from the 
blacker jungle of the shores; but they strained 
their eyes to pierce the shadows and to avoid snags 
and rocks, and had nearly gained the main river 
when, with a sickening crash, the canoe struck a 


THE MOGOLLONES 145 

submerged log and the boys were thrown forward 
on their faces. Hurriedly picking themselves up, 
they strove to free their craft, but the cayuca was 
wedged fast and all their efforts were in vain. 
“Oh, dear!” cried Fred. “Now we are in a fix! 
They’ll catch us sure!” 

And, as if in answer to his words, came the 
splash of paddles and the next instant a cayuca, 
manned by three Indians, swept alongside the 
stranded canoe. 



Benson Takes a Hand 

S OMETHING certainly has gone wrong,” 
declared Mr. Wilson when, on the second 
morning the prisoners were still left in 
their pen and were not sent to the mine. “I’m 
beginning to think Sailor Joe’s remark about the 
sub blowing up may have been near the mark.” 

“Something blew up, at all events,” replied the 
scientist. “It was far too loud for a gun or a 
mine and was too near for a vessel being destroyed 
by the U-boat, — within the lagoon at any rate, I 
should say. And these Huns are busy as bees 
about something they don’t want us to know.” 

“I been spyin’ of ’em,” announced the lanky 
sailor, Joe. “Most all hands cleared off yisterday 
’bout two bells an’ come back just after sundown 
a carry in’ of a cargo o’ some sort. This mornin’ 
they’ve gone again.” 


146 


BENSON TAKES A HAND 


x 47 


“They may be bringing up supplies from the 
schooner,” suggested Mr. Wilson. “Although I’m 
surprised they don’t make us do the work. Do 
you suppose there’s any chance of that Indian 
bringing help?” 

“Just one chance in a thousand,” replied Mr. 
Grayson. “If he doesn’t celebrate his freedom by 
getting drunk on chicha or palm wine among his 
own tribesmen, and forget all about us, he’ll un- 
doubtedly gather in some of his friends and do his 
best to reach the ‘Blancos’; but you must remem- 
ber he’ll have to go through the Mogollon country 
to reach them.” 

“I only wish I knew where the boys are,” sighed 
Mr. Wilson. “Nothing else troubles me. Why, 
even if they were here I believe it would be bet- 
ter than the uncertainty.” 

“No it wouldn’t,” his companion declared. “I’d 
far rather have those boys out in the mangroves 
or in the bush than rotting here, Wilson.” 

“Yes, in some ways you’re right,” replied the 
other. “But I’m constantly thinking of those In- 
dians you told about. I’m so afraid the boys will 
go into the bush searching for us and will run 
afoul of some hostile savages. It makes me faint 
to think of what might happen to them.” 

“Don’t fret about that,” the scientist said, reas- 
suringly. “Even if they went into the bush and 
should meet Indians they wouldn’t be hostile. The 


148 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

coastal districts are inhabited by these meek, sub- 
missive creatures we have as fellow-prisoners. 
Why, they haven’t even ambition or pluck enough 
to attempt to escape. They’re of Warrau stock, 
a tribe rated as the lowest intellectually of all the 
races of northern South America. On the other 
hand, the Mogollones are probably one of the off- 
shoots of the Caribs, who are famed for their 
savage fighting qualities and have always been 
cannibals and look upon every other tribe and race 
as natural enemies and excellent meat. But they 
seldom come near the coasts, according to the 
Indians I have talked with here, and then only by 
one river down which they travel from their vil- 
lages on the interior savannas in order to secure 
salt from a natural salt-pan near the river’s 
mouth.” 

“You are comforting,” exclaimed Mr. Wilson, 
sarcastically. “First you cheer me by saying the 
boys can’t run up against the savages and then you 
calmly inform me that if they stray to this river 
they might be caught by cannibals.” 

The scientist laughed. “Hardly a chance of 
that,” he declared. “According to the Indians, the 
river is miles away to the eastward and there are 
impenetrable mangrove swamps between here and 
its mouth. There’s no reason for the boys going 
in that direction; they’d either search about in 
this immediate vicinity or else try to reach Rio 


BENSON TAKES A HAND 


149 

Hacha to the west, always providing, of course, 
they didn’t try to signal the destroyer and didn’t 
succeed. No, old friend, there’s no need to worry 
over the boys, as far as Indians are concerned.” 

At this moment the sailor, Joe, beckoned franti- 
cally from where he was peering through an open- 
ing between the logs of the stockade and the two 
rose and hurried to his side. 

‘They’re a cornin’ back!” announced the sailor. 
“Look-a-here, sirs; they’re every man jack on’m 
loaded to the hatches! Lor’ love me, but there’s 
a bunch of ’em a-carryin’ of a gun!” 

The scientist and Mr. Wilson were now peer- 
ing through chinks in the wall and could see sev- 
eral German sailors emerging from the trail and 
each with a bundle, box or bale upon his shoulder, 
while behind them came half a dozen more with a 
rapid-fire gun slung to stout poles. 

“Must be bringing supplies and armament from 
the sehooner,” muttered Mr. Grayson. “Hello, 
there’s another gun !” 

“And a searchlight!” added Mr. Wilson. 
“Why, they must be stripping the schooner!” 

“Or else ” commenced the scientist. “By 

Jove! I have it! This stuff is salvage! See the 
way that searchlight’s bent and dented? I’ll bet 
the schooner was loaded with explosives and blew 
up and these chaps are saving what they can!” 

“Shouldn’t wonder if you’re right, Grayson,” 


150 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

cried Mr. Wilson. “I wonder what became of the 
U-boat?” 

“If she was alongside she’s likely sunk, or at 
least disabled,” replied the other. “But of course 
she may have left before the explosion occurred.” 

“S’help me!” ejaculated Joe, slapping his thigh. 
“I’m a Dutchman if the blarsted sub ain’t stove 
in! That there searchlight’s offen no schooner, 
nor them guns, neither. I’m blind as a bat if they 
ain’t from them skunks’ murder-machine, — I was 
three days aboard her an’ they look right familiar 
to me!” 

“Let us hope so,” remarked Mr. Wilson. “But 
it doesn’t help our plight much. Hello, they’re 
mounting the guns !” 

“Looks as though they expected trouble,” com- 
mented the scientist as he watched the Germans 
busily hoisting the guns to platforms they had 
erected. “I expect they’re in a worse fix than we 
think. Unless there’s another U-boat that uses 
this base, they’re likely to be marooned here till the 
end of the war.” 

“Couldn’t they get to Rio Hacha in their 
launch?” asked Mr. Wilson. 

“Probably she went to pieces with the schoon- 
er,” replied the other. “But they have other boats. 
Perhaps they intend to send a boat’s crew to Rio 
Hacha and get a schooner over here to rescue 
them.” 


BENSON TAKES A HAND 


151 

“I’m surprised they didn’t have a wireless,” re- 
marked Mr. Wilson, “not only for communicating 
with the U-boat but for intercepting messages.” 

“Too risky,” replied Mr. Grayson. “They know 
the coast’s patroled and a wireless message might 
give them away. Look out ! Here comes our din- 
ner !” 

Hurriedly the three withdrew from their peep- 
holes and seated themselves with the other prison- 
ers just as the afternoon rations of dried beef and 
tepid water were brought into the pen. 

Early the following morning, the watchers hur- 
ried to their crevices in the wall, curious to see 
what their captors were doing. At the first glance, 
Mr. Grayson uttered a low whistle of surprise. 
“Look here, Wilson!” he exclaimed. “They’re 
putting up an aerial for their wireless I” 

“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Wilson, peering out 
at the Germans, who had raised two tall poles or 
spars above the trees and to which they were 
stringing wires. “I suppose,” he added, “they are 
willing to risk getting caught in order to summon 
help. Probably they have a code arranged in the 
Colombian towns. By the way, Grayson, accept 
my apologies for scoffing at your suspicions of our 
Alcalde. Guess he knew all about these chaps 
here.” 

“Don’t mention it,” replied the scientist, laugh- 
ing. “But I don’t imagine our jailers are going 


152 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

to talk with Nunez; more likely there’s another 
Hun base along the coast, or an additional U-boat 
in the Caribbean. Or perhaps they don’t intend 
to send, but will just listen in to see if the coast is 
clear.” But whatever the Huns’ plans may have 
been will never be known, for at that moment 
there were shouts from the direction of the trail 
and three men dashed into the stockade calling ex- 
citedly in German and then, as an officer appeared 
in the doorway of the hut, they came to an abrupt 
halt, clicked heels together and came to a stiff sa- 
lute. 

“News of some sort!” exclaimed Mr. Wilson. 

“Those chaps looked frightened. I wonder ” 

A strange sound, half hiss, half screech, inter- 
rupted his words; there was a blinding flash and 
a dense mass of yellowish-white smoke burst from 
the doorway of the hut with a deafening detona- 
tion. The three watchers staggered back with the 
shock of the concussion. “Shell!” gasped Mr. 
Grayson. “Gad, Wilson, they’re attacked!” 

Scarcely had he finished speaking when there 
was a second explosion, as another shell fell within 
the stockade and, oblivious to their own danger or 
the risk they ran, every white prisoner rushed to 
the walls and pressed his face against the logs, 
striving to get a glimpse of the scene without. 

The little building was shattered and its splin- 
tered timbers and twisted iron-roofing were piled 


BENSON TAKES A HAND 


153 


confusedly together, while sprawled in grotesque 
attitudes a few feet distant, were the bodies of 
the officer and three men. One of the wireless 
masts had been severed and hung swaying by 
its wires, while a gun platform had been torn 
from its foundations and lay, with its gun 
pointing skyward, with several dead Germans 
pinned beneath it. Of the remaining Ger- 
mans several were wounded and lay bleeding 
and groaning on the ground, while others were 
running about, yelling orders and cursing with all 
discipline forgotten. As the prisoned eyes swept 
the stockade and, at a glance, took in the havoc 
wrought, a third shell screeched through the air 
and struck just within the entrance. As the heavy 
smoke slowly drifted away, the demoralized Huns 
dashed forward, and leaping across the pit formed 
by the shell, ran madly into the bush. But the 
last had scarcely disappeared when there were the 
sharp, staccato reports of rifles from the forest, 
followed by terrified cries, and the Germans came 
rushing back, while close at their heels, charged a 
squad of white-clad, khaki-legginged bluejackets. 
The Germans, penned in their own stockade, threw 
up their hands with shouts of “Kamerad!” and a 
bluejacket ran to the solitary wireless pole and 
commenced shinnying up the spar with a tiny ball 
of bunting slung on his back. But long ere he had 
gained the top and the Stars and Stripes fluttered 


154 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

in the breeze, the captives had dashed from their 
pen and with shouts of joy were wringing the hand 
of the coatless young officer in command of the 
squad, while his bronzed boys looked on with im- 
passive faces, as though capturing a Hun base and 
freeing American prisoners was an every-day af- 
fair. 

“I suppose you’re Mr. Wilson and Mr. Gray- 
son,” said the lieutenant, after the first impulsive 
greetings were over. “De Witt, of C- 2 , told us 
you were here somewhere and asked us to stand 
close in and watch for signals. I suppose the 
Huns got you before you had a chance to let us 
know. Weren’t there four in your party?” 

‘‘Haven’t you seen the boys? Didn’t they signal 
you? How did you locate us then?” exclaimed 
Mr. Wilson in anxious tones. 

“No,” replied the officer. “We haven’t seen any 
boys or any signals, — except those the Huns them- 
selves gave us,” he added with a laugh. “You 
see,” he explained, “we heard a heavy explosion a 
few nights ago and a flare in the sky and stood in 
to see what it was, and found the lagoon. Every- 
thing was quiet, but we picked up some pieces of 
floating wreckage and knew there was something 
queer going on and a boat’s crew ran across some 
bodies near a pile of burnt canvas and supplies on 
a beach back among the mangroves and located 
your schooner, which had been blown up. But 


BENSON TAKES A HAND 


i55 


that hadn’t been done the night before and we 
couldn’t make it out. Then we landed a crew on 
a high island off the lagoon entrance to see if they 
could pick up anything back in the swamps, and 
they picked up a heap. Found a submerged cave 
with a landing ladder and field telephone with a 
wire running up to the top of the hill, and made 
out the roof of a house back in the bush; but 
nothing that looked like a base or a U-boat in 
sight. We decided to send a boat in to investi- 
gate, for you see we didn’t dare shell it on sus- 
picion, — might have been a native house for all 
we knew; but the boat’s crew couldn’t locate the 
place and couldn’t find a way through the swamp 
even when we signaled from the island. Spent a 
couple of days at it and were just giving up when 
our boys on the island wigwagged that an aerial 
was going*up over the roof. That looked good to 
us and we stood up the lagoon to drop a few shells 
in and then, just by bull luck, our boat’s crew 
found a channel and came within an ace of catch- 
ing a boat full of Huns salvaging a wreck. But 
the Boches got away up the stream and our boys 
hustled back for reinforcements. Then Benson 
dropped three shells here and was to wait fifteen 
minutes to see if we took it. That’s all. Mighty 
glad we helped you out, gentlemen! If you’re 
ready we’ll go aboard.” A few sharp orders and 
the squad of bluejackets tramped out through the 


i 5 6 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

trail, the captives in their midst, while, in the rear, 
were the six unkempt but happy ex-prisoners. 

As the navy cutters swept down the river, Mr. 
Grayson and Mr. Wilson told their story and 
asked many questions of the young officer in com-) 
mand. 

“Can’t imagine what blew up their ship,” he 
declared in reply to a query from the scientist. 
“But ’twas darned lucky for you chaps and us. 
Wouldn’t have guessed there was a thing here if 
we hadn’t heard it. And it got their sub, too! 
Her superstructure’s standing above water; no- 
ticed it as we came in. There she is now !” 

The boats had now reached open water and the 
wreck of the yacht was plainly visible with the 
dull-gray conning tower of the sunken U-boat be- 
side it. 

“Guess we’ll run alongside,” remarked the lieu- 
tenant. “Have to report details,” and at his order 
the cutter spun around and in a few moments 
was resting motionless beside the mass of spars 
and rigging which had once been the trim German 
schooner. 

“Must have been an internal explosion,” de- 
clared the officer, after a careful examination. 
“Stern blown clean out of her and whole after 
deck gone and port side blown out! That’s what 
got the U-boat! Sort of depth charge effect. Ex- 


BENSON TAKES A HAND 


*57 

pect the schooner was full of high explosives and 
torpedoes and the sub was taking them on when 
something dropped.” 

Leaving the wreck, the boats followed a tortu- 
ous channel through the mangroves and emerged 
on a large lagoon with the speedy, vicious, camou- 
flaged destroyer swinging to anchor a hundred 
yards distant. As the boats swung alongside and 
the rescued men reached the deck, a bare-headed, 
bronze-faced, shirt-sleeved young man dropped the 
fish line he was dangling over the side and hurried 
forward. Saluting, the officer who had led the 
landing party, introduced his companion. 

“Mr. Wilson, Lieutenant Benson; Mr. Grayson, 
Lieutenant Benson.” 

“Mighty glad to meet you, gentlemen!” declared 
the commander of the destroyer as he grasped 
their hands. “Glad we’ve been of service to you !” 
Then, glancing at the prisoners and addressing 
his brother officer, “Must have cleaned up pretty 
well, Frank!” he exclaimed. 

“You bet we did, Rex!” replied the other. 
“Your shells knocked the whole place gaily west 
and killed most of the bunch. Only eighteen pris- 
oners and six of them wounded! Say, old man, 
their supply ship blew up and sunk their sub; 
what do you know about that?” 

“Good work!” ejaculated the commander. 


158 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“Come on, gentlemen, and have something to eat; 
you look half starved. We can talk better while 
we eat.” 

As the party gathered about the tiny table in 
the tinier dining-room and the two civilians ate the 
first square meal they had had for days, they re- 
lated the story of their experiences and ended with 
a plea for the aid of the destroyer's men in making 
a search for the missing boys. 

“Sure thing!” the commander assured them. 
“That’s what we’re for, — to help Americans and 
kill Huns. But frankly, I’m afraid we’ll have 
some hunt. Surely the boys must have heard the 
explosion and if they didn’t locate it they’d have 
heard our guns and shells this morning. If they’re 
anywhere near they should have shown up by 
now.” 

“They may be lost and can’t find their way out 
here,” suggested Lieutenant Sargeant. “If we cir- 
cle the lagoon and fire a few guns they may locate 
us or they can reply with their guns and we can 
trace them.” 

“I fear they’ve landed and are in the forest,” 
said Mr. Wilson. “But even so, they should have 
heard the firing and would guide themselves by 
that, unless they’re helpless.” 

“They may not have had time yet,” suggested 
the scientist. “If we remain here a day or two 
while searching for them it will give them time 


BENSON TAKES A HAND 159 

to travel some distance and the shots from the 
searchers will guide them.” 

It was stilUearly in the afternoon and, the meal 
over, it was decided that no time should be lost, 
but that two boats should explore the shores 
of the smaller lagoon, where the yacht had been 
sunk, while the destroyer returned to the island 
to take off the men left there. The latter reported 
that they had seen no small boat or canoe on any 
of the creeks or lagoons within their view and the 
searching party returned with a German power- 
cutter, but without the boys. The launch, they 
said, had been discovered moored to a mangrove in 
a narrow channel near the wrecked yacht; but no 
one could even suggest a theory to account for it 
being there. 



Frightful Experiences 

A S THE Mogollones’ canoe swept alongside 
the stranded cayuca, the two boys sank 
back with hopeless groans to await their 
fate, for so unexpected had been the arrival of 
the Indians and so swift their descent upon the 
fugitives, that the boys were utterly dum founded 
and did not even have the presence of mind to 
seize their guns. 

And the appearance of the Indians was by no 
means reassuring, for they were fully armed and 
at sight of the boys one of the three dropped his 
paddle and springing erect, raised his javelin and 
held it poised, as if about to hurl it at the cower- 
ing lads. The next moment, the Indians’ canoe 
grated against the cayuca and two of the savages 
leaped into the smaller craft and, seizing the boys, 
rapidly bound them hand and foot with strong 
160 


FRIGHTFUL EXPERIENCES 


161 

strips of bark. Then, trussed like spitted fowls, 
the two terrorized boys were tossed carelessly into 
the canoe and a moment later were being paddled 
back towards the Indian village and captivity. 

Too overwhelmed with their misfortune to 
speak, the two prisoners lay silent and motionless 
in the canoe for some time; but at last Rob’s anger 
overcame his fright. “The de’ils!” he exclaimed. 
“The painted de’ils! Hoot, mon, but we’re addle 
pated ninnies, lad ! Why didna we shoot afore they 
clappet hands on us? ’Tis braw lads we be to be 
took like bairns, wi’ never a squeak o’ reeseest- 
ance.” 

“ ’T would only have made things worse,” 
moaned Fred. “We might have shot them, but if 
we hadn’t killed all three the first shot they’d have 
killed us. Besides, I never thought of it; ’twas all 
so sudden.” 

“Aye,” agreed the other. “No more did I, lad- 
die; but ’twould ha’ been no worse bein’ killed in 
yon cayuca than bein’ murdered slow-like an’ 
havin’ our feet sliced.” 

“Do you think they will kill us or torture us?” 
cried Fred. 

Rob gave a mirthless laugh. “Are ye thinkin’ 
’tis for our diversion they’re takin’ us back?” he 
asked, sarcastically. “Do we no mind how gentle 
they are or the conseederation they have for our 
comfort? Gang awa’, Fred! An’ we live to see 


102 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

anither nicht 'twill be no short o' a meeraele!” 

“And we haven’t even our guns, now!” cried 
Fred. 

“Weel, we still ha’ cartridges, ye ken,” said 
Rob. “It might be worse, lad; it might be worse.” 

But despite his words, neither of the boys could 
see anything to hope for in their desperate plight. 

Presently the canoe reached the village landing- 
place; the boys’ feet were unbound and, closely 
guarded by the Indians, they were marched along 
the trail towards the Mogollon village. 

The place seemed strangely deserted and not a 
full-grown man was visible; but the boys gave 
little heed to this as they were thrown roughly on 
the floor of their hut and their feet were once more 
lashed fast. But even bound as they were, an 
armed Indian remained squatting in the doorway 
and it was evident that the savages had no inten- 
tion of letting the captives escape a second time. 
Throughout the night the two boys lay upon the 
bare earth floor of the hut, suffering agonies from 
the myriads of ants which crawled over them and 
which they could not brush away with hands 
bound fast behind them. Their muscles ached and 
became numbed, the ants explored their ears, noses 
and mouths and crawled under their garments ; big 
cockroaches scampered over them and all the tor- 
tured boys could do was to roll about and groan, 
with eyes closed tight to keep out the ants and in- 


FRIGHTFUL EXPERIENCES 163 

sects. At times it seemed as if they would go rav- 
ing mad and they screamed aloud, but the savage 
at their doorway gave not the slightest heed and 
never so much as turned his head at their agonized 
cries. 

But at daybreak most of the insects sought their 
hiding places and presently their guard rose, and, 
calling to someone near at hand, he entered the 
hut and untied the boys’ hands. A moment later 
a woman appeared with a huge calabash of stew 
and a loaf of coarse corn bread, but the captives’ 
hands were so swollen and numb from their bonds 
that it was some time before they could eat. So 
utterly worn and exhausted were the boys from 
their sufferings that as soon as they had eaten they 
flung themselves into the hammocks and instantly 
fell asleep and scarcely opened their heavy eyes, 
even when the Indian guard again bound their 
swollen wrists. It was late in the afternoon when, 
at last, they were aroused by loud shouts and cries, 
and, painfully raising themselves, looked from 
their doorway upon a strange sight. The open 
area of sand, which stretched from their hut to 
the council house a hundred yards distant, was 
fairly swarming with Indians, all painted hide- 
ously, all with their long, black hair streaming 
down their backs, all carrying weapons in their 
hands, and all dancing and prancing about and 
yelling fiendishly. But the boys scarce noticed 


164 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

these, for all their attention was centered on a 
group of figures in the center of the dancing, 
screaming circle of Mogollones; a pitiful knot of 
bound and bleeding prisoners, — men, women and 
children, — who stood silent and defiant while their 
captors howled about and ever and anon raised 
their spears threateningly. That the captives were 
Indians was evident, for they were nude, save for 
gaudy cotton cloths wrapped about their loins; 
there were strings of teeth and claws about their 
necks and their hair was long and fell loosely 
about their shoulders. But no second glance was 
needed to know they were of totally different stock 
from their captors, for while they were painted 
almost as hideously as the Mogollones, yet, where 
not covered with pigment, their skins were pale 
and scarce darker than the tanned faces of the two 
boys. 

“Why, they’re white!” exclaimed Fred. “Rob, 
they’re white Indians!” 

“Hoot, laddie, ye’re richt !” cried Rob. “An’ yon 
de’ils ha’ taken them prisoners like oursel’s! Puir 
lads!” 

The sun had now set and darkness was descend- 
ing with tropic suddenness, but a moment later a 
huge fire was kindled near the council house and 
by its weird, red glare the boys saw the fat old 
chief seated on his stool, with the group of Mo- 
gollones seated around him. Then, as the two lads 


FRIGHTFUL EXPERIENCES 165 

watched, they saw one of the light-skinned cap- 
tives seized and dragged into the council house 
where he was thrown upon the floor before the 
chief. To their amazement, the boys saw the 
captives’ hands freed and a dark-colored, stick 
handed to him and suddenly it dawned upon them 
that the Indian prisoner was being put to the same 
test as themselves. 

“Gosh!” ejaculated Fred. “They think he can 
make an explosion!” 

“Aye, an’ I’m minded they’ll murder him an’ 
he canna. ’Tis ” 

“Oh, they have, Rob!” screamed Fred. “Oh, 
what fiends!” 

The very instant the prisoner had grasped the 
stick he had whirled it about his head and with a 
fierce cry brought it crashing down upon the skull 
of a Mogollon; but scarce had the stricken man 
crumpled to the earth ere a dozen spears had 
pierced the breast and throat of the captive. 

Rolling the body aside, the Mogollones dragged 
another of the prisoners before the chief, and 
tossing him to the floor, drove a lance through 
his throat. 

“Oh, it’s too horrible!” cried Fred. “I can’t 
watch it!” and turning his head away the boy 
buried his face in the hammock. 

But Rob, horrified, shivering and nauseated, 
seemed actually hypnotized and powerless to move 


1 66 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


or even close his eyes to shut out the gruesome 
sight and Fred, despite his utmost efforts found 
himself compelled to raise his head and watch 
with fixed gaze and quaking limbs as the Mo- 
gollones butchered their helpless victims. 

But still worse was to come, for when half a 
dozen of the prisoners had been slain the re- 
mainder were dragged to a nearby hut and the 
Mogollones gathered about the council house ; 
women moved about, carrying calabashes of fiery 
palm-wine and to the dull, resonant boom of a 
tom-tom the Indians commenced to dance. And 
as they swayed and moved about, between their 
bodies the boys caught sight of a group of women 
stooping and working above the corpses and every 
now and then casting shapeless objects into a huge 
cauldron placed upon the fire. Then, as the awful 
truth dawned upon them, the boy’s faces grew 
deadly white beneath their tan and they cried aloud 
in horror. 

“Rob! Oh, Rob!” moaned Fred through chat- 
tering teeth. “They’re cooking them! They’re 
going to eat them ! Oh ! Oh !” and flinging himself 
back in the hammock the boy’s strained nerves 
gave way and he broke into a paroxysm of hys- 
terical sobs. 

And Rob, scarcely less affected than his com- 
panion, felt the hair tingling on his scalp and he 
gulped and swallowed hard to restrain an over- 


FRIGHTFUL EXPERIENCES 167 

whelming faintness. Then, suddenly and without 
a word, the Scotch lad slipped from the hammock 
to the floor and rolled and jerked himself across 
the threshold of the hut, — from which the guard 
had long since gone to join his fellows at the feast, 
— and in the shadows, inch by inch worked his 
way painfully to a nearby shed where the smol- 
dering remains of a fire still glowed dully in the 
pitchy darkness. Closer and closer he wiggled, 
until, at last, his feet were within reach of the 
gleaming coals. Then, with a sudden kick of his 
bound legs, he scattered the firebrands about and, 
rolling to the brightest brand, maneuvered until it 
was beneath his back and pressing against the taut 
rope that bound his hands. Gritting his teeth and 
writhing in agony as the red-hot coal seared the 
flesh of his wrists, Rob pressed his bonds unflinch- 
ingly against the glowing wood until the bark rope 
parted and his hands w r ere free. Then extinguish- 
ing the burning cloth of his garments, he quickly 
freed his ankles and, gathering up the ropes, scur- 
ried rapidly back to the hut. So quickly had it 
all been accomplished that Fred had not noticed 
his comrade’s absence and was still lying with his 
face in the hammock. 

“Hist, laddie!” cried Rob, shaking his friend’s 
shoulder. “ ’Tis free I am, lad! Hoot, mon, we’ll 
no be murdered nor eaten, Fred!” 

As he spoke, he rapidly unfastened the knots 


1 68 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


of Fred’s bonds and, as the latter turned, bewil- 
dered and unbelieving, towards Rob, the ropes 
slipped from his wrists and he was free. 

“What, how ” he stuttered, gazing incredu- 

lously at his swollen wrists. “Oh, Rob, you’re 
all burned! What have you done?” 

“Gang awa’!” cried Rob. “ ’Tis no muckle 
scorchet I am.” And then, in a few rapid words, 
he told of what he’d done. 

“We’ll bide a wee,” he continued, “wi’ the rope 
wrappet ’round our wrists in case yon de’il jailer 
comes alang; but I dinna think he’ll be mindin’ o’ 
us wi’ yon feast a gangin’ on. Hoot, mon, ’twill 
no be lang afore the whole clan’s drunk as fiddlers 
fra their wine an’ we can gang awa’ an’ none the 
wiser!” 

“But they’ll follow us and catch us again !” ob- 
jected Fred. 

“No, laddie, that, they’ll not,” replied the other. 
“ ’Twas boobies we were afore, but this time we’ll 
leave no canoes for them to follow in. We’ll tow 
them oot o’ the grass an’ sink them in yon stream 
an’ if the cayuca’s naw bashed itself to bits on yon 
snag we’ll ha’ our guns again, lad.” 

There seemed no reason why Rob’s plan should 
not be successful and, greatly cheered at the 
thought of escape and with renewed confidence, 
now that they were no longer bound and helpless, 
the two boys waited impatiently while the canni- 


FRIGHTFUL EXPERIENCES 169 

balistic orgy continued. It seemed, however, as 
if Rob’s prophecy that the Indians would drink 
themselves into a drunken stupor would never come 
true and for hour after hour the savages gorged 
and drank and howled while the night reverberated 
to the deep boom of the big drum. But at last the 
noise grew less, the beat of the tom-tom was inter- 
mittent, the Indians lolled about and ceased to 
dance, and presently all was silent and not a move- 
ment could be seen. 

A few minutes more the excited boys waited, 
and then, feeling sure that no watch was being 
kept and that the Indians were dead to the world, 
the two cast aside their bonds and, keeping in the 
shelter of the darkest shadows, crept from their 
hut, crossed the open space of sand in safety and 
dashed down the trail as rapidly as their cut and 
benumbed ankles would permit. They reached the 
landing place with no sound of an alarm from the 
village and a few moments later were in mid- 
stream with all the Indians’ canoes. But they soon 
found that Rob’s plan to sink the canoes was not 
easy to accomplish, for despite the fact that they 
were capsized and filled with water, the buoyant 
cedar still floated. And at last, abandoning this 
idea, the boys decided to tow the craft down 
stream and set them adrift when some distance 
from the landing. Although to tow the heavy 
cayucas meant a loss of valuable time, yet the 


I 7 0 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

boys realized that without their craft the Indians 
could not follow them and they exerted all their 
strength and paddled with all possible speed until 
the landing place was half a mile behind. Then, 
capsizing the canoes, they cut them loose and in 
the small cayuca they had selected sped swiftly 
down the river. 

Their abandoned canoe was still fast upon the 
submerged log and their guns were safe within it 
and, only stopping long enough to recover their 
weapons, the boys continued on their way. For 
several hours they paddled with the current, but, 
strangely enough, there was no sign of the broad, 
main river. “Where is that river ?” exclaimed 
Fred at last. “It didn’t seem such a long distance 
when we came up.” 

Rob shook his head. “I dinna ken,” he replied. 
“But ’tis somewhere ahead.” 

For another hour the cayuca slipped silently 
through the dark forest and then, without warn- 
ing, the stream widened and the boys found them- 
selves floating on a small lake with its placid 
surface covered with the broad leaves of giant 
water-lilies. 

“We’re lost!” cried Fred. “We never passed 
this place ! Oh, Rob, what will we do ?” 

“Weel, all roads lead to Rome, ye ken,” replied 
Rob philosophically. “An’ we follow the current 
we’ll gain the sea sometime, lad.” 


FRIGHTFUL EXPERIENCES 171 

But to follow the current in the stagnant pond 
was difficult and for a long time the two paddled 
slowly about the edges of the lake, seeking for an 
opening in the forest that hemmed it in or striving 
to note a current flowing away from the spot! 
They had almost completed the circuit when, 
through the labyrinth of tree trunks, they caught 
a dull-red glow and instantly the two ceased pad- 
dling and their faces paled. “It’s a fire whis- 
pered Fred. “There are more Indians here!” 

“Aye,” murmured Rob. “But they’ve no seen 

us, lad. We’ll ” but at this moment the canoe 

was drawn forward by an eddy and before the 
frightened boys could check their craft a strong 
current had swept them into a swift-flowing, nar- 
row stream and was carrying them directly to- 
wards the blazing fire. 



A Strange Meeting 

F RANTICALLY the boys strove to regain 
control of their canoe and at last, when 
within two hundred yards of the fire, they 
turned her into a tiny creek where, panting from 
their exertions and fright, they held to the low- 
growing branches and waited with fast-beating 
hearts, momentarily expecting to hear shouts an- 
nouncing that they had been seen. But no alarm 
was given although, as they listened, they could 
hear the sounds of voices from the direction of 
the fire which was now plainly visible through the 
trees. 

“What can we do?” whispered Fred at last. 
“We can’t go back and if we go past the fire 
they’re sure to see us!” 

Rob hesitated a moment before replying. “Aye, 
’tis out o’ the pan an’ into the fire,” he said. “But 
’tis down stream we must gang, lad. Maybe we 
172 


A STRANGE MEETING 


173 


can slip by yon savages an’ no be seen an’ maybe 
they’re but two or three an’ if they chase us we 
can shoot. Hoot, mon, ’tis no use bidin’ here like 
scairt rabbits i’ a warren! There’s naw current 
close to shore an’ we can creep alang i’ the shadow 
o’ the bush an’ have a wee bit peep at yon camp. 
An’ maybe they’re not Mogollones, Fred; we’re a 
lang ways fra their village.” 

For a few moments Fred expostulated, for while 
he usually led in all mad pranks and adventures, 
he had been so thoroughly terrorized and wrought 
up by his awful experiences and his sufferings that 
he had completely lost his usual initiative and 
looked to his companion for everything. And so, 
as Rob argued that it "was their only chance, he 
finally consented and carefully working the ca- 
yuca from its hiding place, and keeping the craft 
close to the brush-grown shore where there was 
slack water, the boys slowly and cautiously ap- 
proached the broad band of ruddy light upon the 
surface of the river. 

And then, as they peered intently through the. 
bushes towards the fire, Rob gasped and seizing 
a low limb held the cayuca motionless, while Fred 
choked back a stifled cry. Beside the fire squatted 
two huge Mogollones and just beyond, and bound 
fast to a tree, was a light-skinned captive. “It’s 
another white Indian!” whispered Fred. “And 
they’re going to kill and eat him!” 


i 7 4 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“Aye, puir lad!” replied Rob. “But he’s no 
Indian! Dinna ye see he’s wearin’ breeks, lad? 
Yon’s a white man, Fred!” 

“Gosh, you’re right!” exclaimed Fred in sub- 
dued tones. “Oh, Rob, can’t we do something? 
Can’t we shoot those fiends from here?” 

“An’ supposin’ we dinna kill them?” asked Rob. 
“An’ dinna ye see yon captive’s in range o’ our 
guns, laddie? ’Twould be little comfort to riddle 
his skin wi’ bullets to kill yon de’ils.” 

“But we must do something,” insisted Fred. 
“Perhaps we could sneak around and get a better 
shot.” 

Rob shook his head. “If we move fra here we’ll 
ha’ no cover and they’ll see us first, lad,” he de- 
clared. “Hoot, mon ! I ha’ a plan. Hold the boat 
here, Fred, an’ bide a wee. I’m thinkin’ I ha’ a 
wee bit o’ surprise i’ my sleeve.” 

“Oh, don’t take any risks, Rob,” begged Fred. 
“Suppose you were caught or hurt, what would I 
do?” 

“Dinna fear,” whispered the other. “ ’Tis for- 
gettin’ your Scout’s oath, ye are, laddie dear. Do 
ye think we’d be gangin’ alang an’ no take reesks 
o’ helpin’ yon puir lad. Gang awa’, Fred!” 

Thus reproved, Fred sat silent, holding the ca- 
yuca in its place, while Rob, stripping off his shoes 
slipped silently into the water and, noiselessly as 
an otter, swam slowly down stream. As he reached 


A STRANGE MEETING 


i75 

the strip of light upon the surface his head sank 
from Fred’s sight, but a moment later the anxious 
watcher saw his comrade crawl from the water 
and disappear in the bushes well below the fire. 

Patiently he waited, not knowing what wild plan 
Rob had in mind, and praying that he might suc- 
ceed. 

Meanwhile Rob, having gained the bank below 
the fire, crawled like a snake through the small 
growth near the stream and safely gained the 
more open forest. Then, keeping ever within the 
black shadows of the trees, he gradually worked 
his way towards the fire. Nearer and nearer he 
crept, his heart pounding with excitement, until 
he was within twenty yards of the tree to which 
the prisoner was bound. Between him and the 
captive was an open space, bare of trees and 
brightly illuminated by the firelight, and Rob’s 
heart sank, for he knew that to cross that bright 
area meant certain detection by the Indians. But 
as he flattened himself behind his sheltering tree 
a falling branch in the forest crashed to earth and 
instantly the Indians leaped to their feet and with 
ready weapons turned and gazed in the direction 
of the sound. But the brief second during which 
they looked away was enough for Rob and with 
his utmost speed he dashed across the open space 
and gained the shelter of a tree close to the pris- 
oner and not a dozen feet from the fire. 


176 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

Scarcely had he done so, when one of the In- 
dians strode towards the bound man and loosed 
his bounds, while his companion poised his spear 
as if to pierce the captive’s breast. But ere the 
spear descended Rob, with a heartfelt, silent prayer 
for success, had tossed a handful of cartridges 
into the blazing fire. The next instant the forest 
echoed to the explosions of the shells; the fire 
leaped and flew apart, blazing sticks and coals were 
scattered far and near and with one wild, terrified 
yell the Mogollones dropped their weapons and 
fled, panic-stricken, into the forest. Before they 
had gained the first shadows, Rob had leaped to 
the prisoner’s side and shouting wildly and in- 
coherently to “gang alang!” dashed for the canoe 
with the other close at his heels. 

Fred, who had heard the reports of the shells 
and had seen the flying firebrands, had guessed 
what had occurred and was ready, and as the two 
sprang into the cayuca he shoved it from the 
bank into mid-stream and the next moment he and 
Rob were paddling for their lives, for as they 
glanced towards the fire they saw the two Mogol- 
lones racing towards the shore. But as the In- 
dians drew their bows to shoot, the rescued man 
seized a gun, there was a flash and roar, and the 
foremost Indian spun like a top and sank to the 
ground, while his companion turned tail and 
dashed away. 



WITH ONE WILD, TERRIFIED YELL THE MOGOLLONES 
FLED, PANIC-STRICKEN 

1 77 


/ 







A STRANGE MEETING 


179 


“Take thot, yez spahlpeens !’’ cried the stranger. 
“Faith, b’yes, ’tis a foine bit o’ shootin’ iron yez 
have here !" 

“Why, you — you're ’’ exclaimed Fred. 

“Oirish as !Pat Murphy's pig!’' supplemented 
the other. “Glory be! Did ye think Oi was a 
murtherin’, haythen Mogollon?" The fellow burst 
into a hearty laughter. 

“No," replied Fred, “we knew you weren’t a 
Mogollon, but we thought at first you were a — 
a white Indian. But it did kind of surprise me to 
hear you speak with a brogue, it’s so — so unusual 
down here, you know." 

The Irishman fairly roared. “The saints pre- 
serve us !" he cried. “Yez took me for a Mygone 
then! Be jabbers, 'tis little wonder, what with 
me rags an’ nakedness an' all ! But faith, 'tis foine 
to be hearin’ the swate music o’ Yankee tongues, 
and by the same token as surprisin’ to me as me 
brogue to yez Oi’m afther thinkin' ! Glory be, but 
oi’m afther forgettin’ me manners an’ all! Sure 
’tis thankin' of yez on me bended knees Oi should 
be, for savin' of me loife an’ lavin’ me ears to 
hear with at all, at all. God bless yez, b’yes ; 'twas 
a foine, brave deed entoirely, an' a shtroke o’ 
ganius into the bargain !" 

Rob chuckled. “Hoot, mon!” he exclaimed. 
“ 'Twas no muckle an’ 'tis rare comfort to ha’ an- 
ither lad wi’ a burr on his tongue." 


180 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“Shure thin’ ’tis a foine trio we are!” cried 
the other with a hearty laugh. “A Yankee, a 
Scootchman an’ a Paddy! Saints presarve us! 
Oi’m afther forgettin’ me manners again, ’tis in- 
troducin’ of meself Oi should be.” Throwing back 
his head the voluble young Irishman roared out: 

“Me name is Pat O’Hara, an’ Oi’ve throuble with me ligs, 
Me lift one sets me crazy, it is worse than twinty pigs, 

Oi’ll tell yez all me throubles, an’ the raysons ye may sift — 
Me roight lig is a daisy; but, — the divvil’s in me lift.” 

Dropping their paddles, the boys fairly screamed 
with laughter, for the hearty good humor of the 
irrepressible Irishman was infectious and the sud- 
den reaction from the awful strain they had been 
under made the boys almost hysterical. 

“I’m Fred Wilson,” announced Fred as their 
hilarity subsided. “And this is Rob MacGregor.” 

“An’ fair dyin’ o’ curiosity to ken how yon 
Indians came to ha’ a braw Irish laddie tied to 
a tree waitin’ to be cooked,” declared Rob. 

O’Hara laughed. “Shure ’tis a long shtory, 
b’yes,” he replied. “An’ the fortunes o’ war. 
’Twas the Mygones as shtarted it all, — the white 
Indians as yez call thim. ’Twas a prisoner o’ the 
Mogollones, Oi wuz, — havin’ been taken whin, 
loike the phool Oi wuz Oi attimpted to make frinds 
o’ thim. Thin, one foine day, comes a bunch o’ 
Mygones, an’ the divvil of a foine foight there 
wuz with the Mogollones yellin’ and scrachin’ an* 


A STRANGE MEETING 181 

me with a foine shillelah in the thick of it, 'till 
the haythen cannibals wuz beat, — bad cess to thinT 
— an' the Mygones a-bowin’ an’ a-schrapin’ an’ 
callin’ of me chief. Shure ’twas most flatterin’ 
entoirely and plazin’ too, for ’twas crazy Oi wuz 
to shtudy thim. But saints presarve us ! ’Twas no 
aisy job Oi had, phwat with kapin’ the peace an’ 
bein’ judge an jury, an’ king an’ medicine man, 
an’ nivver sphakin’ a word o’ their tongue, — - 
though by the same token Oi w t uz shtudyin’ it. 
But they wuz a ristless bunch entoirely an’ iver- 
lashtin’ly roamin’ an’ snoopin’ about an’ a camp- 
in’ here an’ a campin’ there with no shtability at 
all, at all, till one foine day, begorra, they shtept 
as swate as yez plase into an ambushcade o’ the 
Mogollones an’ betwane the soorprise an sooperior 
noombers niver wan o’ us eschaped, — savin’ me- 
self phwat didn’t, — for Oi sez to meself, sez Oi, 
‘Sure, Paddy, me b’ye, ’tis high toime fer yez to 
be batin’ it’, sez Oi ; an’ sphakin’ to none o’ me in- 
tintions, Oi bate it. But, be jabbers, ’twas un- 
lucky Oi wuz entoirily an’ as I wuz slapin’ swate 
an’ peace ful-loike Oi woke up with two o’ the mur- 
therin’, haythen fornist me ! An’ thinkin’, beloike, 
a burrd in the hand worth two in the bush the 
bastes toid me harrd an’ phast an’ decoided to 
dine on me thin an thare, when, by the grace o’ 
God, yez dhropped in on the tay party.” 

Then, before the boys could speak the narrator 


182 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 


turned to them and, without a trace of brogue, 
asked : “And now, boys, can you satisfy my curi- 
osity as to how you two happen to be knocking 
about by yourselves in the interior of Goajira?” 

At his words the two boys ceased paddling and 
stared at the speaker with unbelieving eyes and 
surprise expressed in every feature. 

“Why,” exclaimed Fred, “you didn’t speak with 
any brogue at all!” 

The Irishman laughed merrily. “Shure ’tis a 
bit of pleasantry o’ moine to sphake with a brogue 
when I feel particularly light-hearted or mischiev- 
ous,” he replied. 

“Weel, I dinna ken as you are the only person 
who can talk without a burr on his tongue if he 
wishes !” cried Rob, and all three laughed heartily 
at the way Rob had turned the tables. 

Day was now breaking and O’Hara suggested 
that they should stop and try to kill some game 
and have breakfast and as the boys were nearly 
starved they readily agreed. “You can tell me 
your story as we eat,” said O’Hara; “if you boys 
will light a fire I’ll take a look about something 
to eat.” 

Accordingly, the two boys gathered sticks and 
brush and before the pile was ready to light they 
heard the report of the gun and a few moments 
later the Irishman appeared with a fat wild turkey. 
And as the three sat by their camp fire, broiling 


A STRANGE MEETING 183 

the bird over the coals, the boys related the story 
of their adventure. O’Hara listened attentively, 
occasionally uttering ejaculations of “Glory be!” 
or “Saints presarve us !” and when they mentioned 
Mr. Grayson and Cabral his eyes twinkled and 
he shook as with suppressed merriment. 

“What is it you’re laughing at?” asked Fred, 
interrupting his tale. 

“Faith, and isn’t it enough to make anyone 
laugh?” replied O’Hara. “To think of you run- 
ning into all these adventures through starting out 
merely to find a certain man ! Shure, me b’yes ’tis 
stringin’ me Oi’d think yez wuz if Oi’d met yez 
anny other sphot but here.” 

“Well, I suppose it does sound funny,” admitted 
Fred as he continued with his story. Then, when 
at last he had finished, O’Hara rose and clapped 
the two boys on their backs. 

“Boys,” he cried, “you’re wonders! You’ve 
done things that any man might be proud of and 
you’ve had adventures that no one would believe 
if they were printed.” And then, adopting his hu- 
morous brogue, he continued: “Be all the saints, 
me b’yes, ye’ll be afther foindin’ o’ Senor Cabral 
sez Oi, and ’tis proud he’ll be to know yez. Shure 
’tis meself that’ll be afther ladin’ yez to him.” 

“Gosh!” cried Fred. “Do you know him, or 
are you just kidding us?” 

“Do I know him?” laughed O’Hara. “Do I 


184 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

know him? Glory be, his me best frind and me 
worst innemy he is! Saints presarve us, ’twill be 
a foine sight entoirely to be wid yez when yez 
sthand fornist him afther the toimes ye’ve had 
thrailin’ afther him !” The Irishman fairly roared 
with merriment and laughed till tears came to his 
mischievous gray eyes. 

“What is the joke?” cried Fred. “Where is 
Cabral? Are you sure we can find him?” 

“Hoot, mon !” exclaimed Rob, “ ’tis a muckle 
serious matter ye ken, an’ no time for jokin’, sir. 
But I’m thinkin’ ’tis a lang way yet an’ we’ll naw 
be countin’ our chicks afore they hatch. ’Twill 
be a wee bit cannier to be gangin’ alang and find- 
ing o’ yon lagoon.” 

“Faith, and ’tis roight yez are, Sandy!” de- 
clared O’Hara. “We’re wasting time. Come on, 
all rivers flow to the sea, you know, and once on 
the coast we’ll have a try for your destroyer.” 

Once more in the cayuca and speeding down 
stream, Fred plied the Irishman with questions, 
but without satisfaction, for laughs and humorous 
replies in O’Hara’s broad brogue were the only re- 
sponses to his queries and at last he gave it up in 
despair and talked of other matters. Both boys 
were curious to learn what had brought their new- 
found friend into the interior of Goajira, but 
whenever their questions led in this direction the 


A STRANGE MEETING 185 

Irishman evaded them and turned the conversation 
into other channels. 

But the boys soon found that O’Hara was a 
most intelligent and highly educated man and pos- 
sessed a fund of knowledge and information only 
equaled by Mr. Grayson and as they swept down 
the river they forgot all their troubles and their 
worries as listened to his fascinating tales of 
strange places and stranger people. He told them 
of the weird “Lake of Death” in Panama; a lonely 
cairn among the mountains with its shores strewn 
with the skeletons of birds and animals which had 
come to drink of its deadly waters. He related the 
tales of the lost treasure of the Incas and of the 
“Golden City” of Manoa in Guiana. He repeated 
Raleigh’s accounts of the savage “three-fingered 
men” and of the Amazons, and told them the story 
of the “monkey men” and the “Waupena bird” 
whose haunts were supposed to be Goajira itself. 

And so vivid were his descriptions, so well told 
his narrative, that the boys could scarce believe 
that many of the things he told them were mere 
myths and had originated in the imaginative 
brains of the early explorers. 

“Do you really think there is a Golden City and 
an Eldorado, or three-fingered men ?” asked Fred. 

“Or monkey men?” added Rob. 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied O’Hara with 


x86 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

a laugh. “At one time I should have said ‘no, 
they’re pure nonsense’; but the more I see of 
South America the less I scoff at any tale, no 
matter how weird or fanciful it may sound. Nine 
times out of ten I’ve found the wildest yarns are 
based on truth and are merely exaggerations, — 
not pure fables. Take the three-fingered men, for 
example. Old Raleigh claimed there was a race 
in Guiana who had two or three claws on each 
hand and foot in place of fingers and toes, and 
for centuries everyone laughed at the tale, but 
within the past few years a tribe has been found, 
many members of which have hands with but three 
fingers. As they look upon this deformity with 
superstitious awe the freaks are usually medicine 
men. Moreover, the malformation is hereditary 
and, through intermarriage, has been perpetuated 
and has become a characteristic of many of the 
tribe. No doubt Raleigh did see, or was told of, 
these three-fingered Indians, and jumped to the 
conclusion that every member of the race was the 
same. Possibly there is equal foundation for the 
story of the ‘monkey men’ and other supposedly- 
fabulous tribes. Even the story of the Golden 
City may be but a highly colored tale of some 
place which actually exists.” 

“Gosh! I’d like to hunt for it,” declared Fred, 
“and see those three-fingered chaps and the 
monkey men.” 


A STRANGE MEETING 


187 

“Hoot, mon!” cried Rob. “Haven’t you seen 
enough savages without wanting more? If we 
get out of here I'll never want to see another.” 

O’Hara chuckled. “Yes, you will,” he asserted. 
“It’s in the blood, boys; once you have tasted ad- 
venture you never can get enough. I’ll warrant 
you said just the same thing when those Indians 
in Costa Rica had you.” 

“I guess you’re right,” admitted Rob. “Every- 
thing does seem awfully dull and monotonous 

after being in the bush. Do you know ” Rob 

ceased abruptly, the splashing of the paddles 
stopped, the cayuca drifted silently upon the river 
and the three sat motionless, listening intently, for 
a strange sound had reached their ears. Another 
moment and it came again ; a low, faint, far-away 
noise like a single blow upon a huge bass-drum. 

“Glory be, ’tis guns!” cried the Irishman. 

“Hurrah!” yelled Fred. “Someone’s near!” 

“Hoot, mon, ’tis far awa’ !” declared Rob. 

“Shure it’s far away,” agreed O’Hara. “But 
’tis a foine an’ wilcome sound entoirely.” Then, 
dropping his brogue, he continued. “Those are 
reports of heavy guns, boys, and they must be on 
a ship. We’re nearing the sea and there’s some- 
thing going on. Come on, let’s paddle for all 
we’re worth!” 

“Perhaps they’re from a German base,” sug- 
gested Fred. 


i88 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

“Or from yon destroyer,” added Rob. 

And then, as the three bent to their paddles, 
conversation ceased and, thrilling with excitement, 
they drove the cayuca madly down stream. For 
hours they sped on and never slackening pace save 
for a short stop for a hasty meal at noon. And 
now they were becoming anxious, for no more 
sounds of firing had reached their ears and they 
feared the vessel, if vessel it was, had gone and 
that they would reach the sea only to find it de- 
serted. 

Suddenly Fred stopped paddling. “Golly!” he 
exclaimed. “There were just three shots ! Do you 
remember, Rob, we agreed to fire three shots if 
we were lost and they were to answer the same 
way? I’ll bet Dad and Mr. Grayson have been 
rescued and they fired those shots to let us know 
where they were and when we didn’t answer they 
went off.” 

“Don’t you think that for a moment,” said 
O’Hara. “If they were picked up it must have 
been by your destroyer friends and you can bank 
on it that they’re not going to steam off as long 
as there’s any chance of finding you boys.” 

“I suppose that’s so,” agreed Fred as he re- 
sumed paddling. “But just the same, I’ll bet they 
fired those three shots for us.” 

“If they did they served their purpose,” de- 


A STRANGE MEETING 189 

dared the Irishman. “Look, boys! We’ve left 
the hills behind and we’re close to the coast.” 

“An’ how do ye ken that?” asked Rob. 

“By the birds and vegetation,” replied O’Hara, 
and as the canoe sped on, he pointed out various 
trees, bushes and birds which he explained lived 
only on the low, coastal lands. 

Another hour passed, the sun had dropped be- 
hind the trees to the west and night was rapidly 
approaching, when Fred gave a surprised cry and 
ceased paddling. “Gosh!” he exclaimed. “Look 
there, Rob! That’s where we found the Hun 
boats!” He pointed to a muddy landing place 
which still showed the imprints of many feet. 

“Hoot, mon, you’re right!” cried Rob. 

O’Hara gave a low whistle. “Glory be!” he 
ejaculated. “Will wonders never cease? Hold on, 
boys,” he continued. “Let’s have a look up that 
trail! Your people may be there yet.” 

“But the Huns may catch us,” objected Fred. 

“Gang awa’; they’re no so bad as yon Mogol- 
lones,” declared Rob, to whom the spirit of ad- 
venture appealed. 

“We can still run for the canoe, just as you 
did before,” chuckled the Irishman, and, as he 
spoke, the cayuca slid softly into the mud. 

O’Hara looked intently at the soft earth of 
the landing place. “There has been a crowd here 


I 9 0 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

recently,” he announced, “and all going towards 
the river and none going back. If they didn’t 
have boats they must have swum. Shure if it’s 
a riddle I give it up ! Come on, boys !” 

Silently as ghosts, the three crept along the path- 
way with the Irishman in the lead. Suddenly he 
stopped and pointed to the path, already indistinct 
in the twilight. “Blood !” he announced. “There’s 
something doing here !” 

Again they moved forward and, fifty yards 
further on, O’Hara again halted and instantly 
dodged behind a tree. “Hist!” he whispered. 
“Look yonder!” 

Trembling with suppressed excitement, the boys 
peered intently through the bushes and there, not 
one hundred feet distant, saw a high fence or wall 
of stout logs. For a moment they stared, speech- 
less, and then Fred, glancing up, caught the flutter 
of a flag against the darkening sky. The next 
second his companions were startled by his wild 
yell. “Hurrah!” he screamed. “There’s our flag! 
They’re Americans!” And with the words he 
dashed madly towards the stockade. 

“Saints presarve us!” cried the Irishman. “Is 
the lad mad?” and, closely followed by Rob, he 
sprinted after Fred, and then he, too, caught sight 
of the fluttering bunting and yelled like a maniac. 

But as they reached the entrance to the stockade 
they halted dum founded. Within there was no 


A STRANGE MEETING 


191 


sign of life but instead a scene of desolation and 
ruin. A broken rapid-fire gun lay among a mass 
of splintered timbers with its muzzle pointing sky- 
ward; a shattered spar hung in a tangle of wires 
from the flag’s staff and, beyond was a confused 
mass of charred boards and warped, bent, corru- 
gated iron which once had been a building. 

Stooping, O’Hara picked up a blood-stained 
German cap. “Be jabbers, ’tis a sorry day for 
the Huns!” he exclaimed. “Your friends have 
been treatin’ ’em rough all right.” 

“That must have been the firing we heard,” de- 
clared Fred. “Hurrah! The destroyer must be 
near! Come on, let’s get out of here!” 

Turning, the three hurried as rapidly as dark- 
ness would permit, along the trail and pushing the 
cayuca from the shore headed with light hearts 
towards the lagoon. 

Long before they gained the open water it was 
pitch dark and nothing was visible upon the vast 
black expanse. 

“Oh, they’ve gone!” cried Fred dejectedly. 
“We’re too late!” 

“Hoot, mon!” exclaimed Rob. “You didna 
think yon destroyer’d be a lyin’ here, did you ?” 

“She’s probably outside and sent a boat’s crew 
ashore,” declared O’Hara. “Do you boys know 
where the entrance to this lagoon is?” 

But the boys knew as little of this as the Irish- 


XQ2 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

man himself and their only recourse was to paddle 
around the edge of the mangroves searching for a 
channel. Luck, however, was with them and they 
had gone scarce five hundred yards when O’Hara 
discovered a break in the trees and with rapid 
strokes of the paddles the canoe was driven along 
the winding waterway. 

“Hurrah, there are lights!’’ shouted Fred, a 
moment later. “And they’re on a boat!” 

Ahead, like a vast, black plain, stretched open 
water and hung in mid-air above it, and with their 
reflections like long paths of fire upon the polished 
surface of the lagoon, twinkled the lights of a 
ship. 

Mr. Wilson and the scientist were seated upon 
the deck of the destroyer with Lieutenant Benson, 
discussing plans for the search the next day and 
suggesting theories as to the boys’ whereabouts. 
Suddenly the commander sprang up. “That sounds 
like a boat!” he exclaimed as the faint sounds of 
splashing water floated to them across the silent 
lagoon. Scarcely had he finished speaking when 
a sharp challenge rang out from the sentry by 
the gangway. 

“Frinds!” came an answering cry from the 
blackness. “And Americans!” supplemented an- 
other voice. 

“By Jove!” cried Mr. Wilson, leaping up and 


A STRANGE MEETING 


193 


rushing to the rail. “It’s the boys; thank God!” 

“Gad!” ejaculated the scientist. “And they’ve 
company! That brogue was not Rob’s.” 

“Holy mackerel!” exclaimed the commander. 
“Speak of angels ” 

The next instant the cayuca was alongside and 
the three occupants scrambled up the gangway to 
the deck, and Fred rushed to his father’s arms. 

As O’Hara stepped onto the deck Mr. Grayson 
peered at him with a puzzled frown and then, 
with a glad cry, sprang forward and wrung his 
hand. “Great Scott, Cabral!” he cried. “Where 
in thunder did you drop from?” 

“From a three where the murtherin’ Mogollones 
wuz afther tyin’ me until the sphalpeens wuz riddy 
fer their avenin’ male wit me fer the roast j’int. 
Glory be! ’Tis lookin’ foine yez are, Mr. Grray- 
son !” 

As the scientist uttered the name “Cabral,” the 
two boys had whirled about and now both they 
and Mr. Wilson stood gazing with such mystified, 
puzzled expressions on their faces that both the 
Irishman and Mr. Grayson burst into hearty 
laughter. 

“Why, you — you know him !” cried Fred. “And 
you — you called him Cabral! I — I don’t under- 
stand !” 

“Hoot, mon!” exclaimed Rob. “Ha’ we gone 
daffy?” 


194 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

Mr. Grayson strove to suppress his merriment. 
“Tell them, Pat!” he gasped. 

“Senor Don Pedro Esquival Cabral, at your 
service!” cried the Irishman, making a low bow 
and with a broad grin on his unshaven face. 

“But you said you were Pat O’Hara,” insisted 
Fred, still too mystified to realize that the long- 
sought object of their search stood before him. 

“Saints presarve us, an’ so Oi did !” replied the 
other. “An’ by the same token, ’twas truth Oi wuz 
afther tellin’ yez. ’Tis aither wan yez fancy, lad. 
Faith, a rose by anny other name would smhell as 
swate. Shure an’ ’twas but a joke Oi wuz afther 
playin’ on yez !” 

“Come, come, Grayson!” cried Mr. Wilson. 
“What does all this mean? Let’s have an ex- 
planation.” 

“First let me introduce my old friend and col- 
league, Senor Cabral,” laughed the scientist. 

“Or Misther O’Hara,” added the Irishman. 

“Then I’m to understand that you’re the gentle- 
man we’ve been searching for,” said Mr. Wilson 
as he shook hands with the newcomer. “I’m glad 
to know you Mr. — er — Cabral. But I’m still at a 
loss to understand how it is that you are, er — 
pardon me, apparently Irish and — er — also claim 
the name of O’Hara.” 

Cabral gave a merry laugh. “Oh, it’s very 
simple,” he replied, omitting his assumed brogue. 


A STRANGE MEETING 


195 


“My father was one of Emmet’s followers and 
sought safety and freedom in Venezuela, where 
he married the daughter of a Spanish gentleman 
named Cabral. To please both sides of the family, 
I was christened Pedro Esquival Patrick O’Hara 
Cabral, and as I believe that in Rome one should 
do as the Romans do, I omit my Hibernian names 
except when my Irish blood has the upper hand, 
when Oi phuts it on with me brogue, an’ faith, sor, 
ye’ll no be denyin’ as ’tis a foine fit entoirely, sor.” 

Mr. Wilson shook with laughter. “It’s worth 
all we’ve gone through just to hear you,” he de- 
clared, slapping O’Hara on the shoulders. 

“Then you really are Cabral!” cried the boys. 
“Hurrah, we did find him after all!” 

“And in the nick of time,” declared the Irish- 
man. “Half an hour later and half of me would 
have been inside of two hungry Indians!” 

“I’ll warrant you’re hungry now!” exclaimed 
the commander. “I vote we let these three prodi- 
gals wash up and change and then they can spin 
the whole yarn while we’re at chow.” 

“Hivin bless yez fer thim worrds !” cried 
O’Hara. “But ’tis a holy shtone yez’ll be afther 
needin’ to clane me!” 

“Hoot, mon, I’m fair famished!” declared Rob. 

Half an hour later, as they crowded about the 
table with its spotless linen and gleaming silver 
spread under the awnings and were served by the 


ig6 THE TRAIL OF THE WHITE INDIANS 

soft-footed Jap steward, they could scarce believe 
that all they had been through was not a dream 
or that almost within stone’s throw was the bat- 
tered sunken U-boat, while two days’ journey in- 
land dwelt savages who fed on human flesh. And 
as they ate, the boys related the stories of their 
adventures and in turn listened to the others’ ac- 
counts of their experiences with the Germans. 

“I can’t believe it’s all happened in a week,” de- 
clared Fred. “It seems ages ago since we found 
the schooner blown up and the dead crew on the 
beach.” 

“Well, you boys have been going it some,” cried , 
Lieutenant Benson. “That sort of thing is too 
fast for my pace. Talk about chasing subs or 
convoying through the danger zone! And you 
two take it all like a regular lark.” 

“I expect they’re born to be hung,” laughed 
Mr. Grayson. 

“More likely a case of Tools rush in’, you 
know,” said Mr. Wilson. 

“Oh, you can’t get our nannies,” chuckled Rob. 
“You’ve got to admit we found Cabral.” 

“And now we can go back to Panama and start 
on Tisingal,” said Fred. 

“Has Mr. Cabral or, — er — O’Hara, consented?” 
asked Mr. Wilson with a wink. 

“No — o,” replied Fred suddenly taken aback. 
“But you will, won’t you, Mr. O’Hara?” 


A STRANGE MEETING 


197 

“Faith an’ ’tis that same Oi’ll be afther doin’,” 
laughed the Irishman. “It's the least I can do to 
repay you boys for saving my life. But Fm afraid 
we’ll have to take another little trip first.” 

“Another trip ?” cried Rob. “Hoot, man, haven’t 
ye had enough?” 

“All my papers are at my home in Caracas,” 
explained O’Hara. “I must get them before I 
can transfer them to you.” 

“Oh, dear!” sighed Fred. “Then we’ll have to 
go clear back and start all over again !” 

“Perhaps you can prevail upon Lieutenant Ben- 
son to land us in La Guaira,” suggested the scien- 
tist. “It’s nearer than Colon.” 

“Oh, will you?” cried Fred, turning towards 
the young commander. 

But before he could reply there was the rattle 
and roar of the anchor winch, bells clanged and, 
the next moment the little craft throbbed to the 
churn of her powerful screws. 

“Why, we’re off!” cried Fred. “Where are we 
going?” 

“Next port of call, La Guaira,” chuckled the 
commander. 

“Hurrah!” cried the boys in unison. 

“Glory be!” exclaimed Cabral. 




















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